Chapter Forty

(Wow, I can't believe it! Chapter forty! And here I was the other day thinking that I'd never make it to ten chapters. I just keep getting more and more ideas, and it's hard to keep them all straight. Someone--I can't remember who--wanted more Ginny. I don't really like Ginny or Ron. They're kind of lame. Ron is mean to Harry and he only got stuff in book five because Harry couldn't, if you know what I mean. Ginny just has a crush on Harry but I don't think he likes her at all. She's such a wannabe. So I'm trying to leave the Weasleys out. I dunno, maybe one of them should die? LOL That would be very dramatic.)

The house-elf, Dobby, carried their picnic basket down to the lake for them and spread out a red and white checkered tablecloth on the ground. He opened their picnic basket and opened a bottle of sparkling cider and poured some in each of their glasses while holding a little towel over his arm. This amused Draco, but Harry just looked worried.

"Harry, what's wrong?" said Araminta softly so that Draco wouldn't hear them.

Harry stared closely at Araminta. "Nothing, nothing."

Araminta didn't believe him but decided to pretend that she did. "Okay. Let's get into this picnic, then."

Araminta opened up the picnic basket and began to take out the supplies. They had grapes, cold fried chicken, more sparkling cider, ice cream enchanted to stay cold, potato chips, and baby carrots. It was a fairly balanced meal.

"Here you go," she said, handing Draco a chicken wing. "So, did you hear I'm on the Slytherin Quidditch team too?"

"Yeah, I'm the captain so of course I knew," said Draco. "I hear you even kicked Potter's butt today."

"It was a training exercise, Malfoy," said Harry. "Araminta is a great Quidditch player. She'll help us beat you into the ground."

"Um, guys," said Araminta. "I play for both teams."

Harry and Draco glared at each other and took bites of their chicken.

"Wew, we'w see 'bout that," said Harry through a mouthful of poultry.

"Yes, we will," said Draco primly as he Summoned a knife and fork from the picnic basket. "My goodness, Potter, but you are crude," he said snottily.

Harry just licked his fingers angrily.

"Ew. Manners, Potter."

"You two sound like my parents," Araminta said without thinking, with a half-smile on her face.

"Actually,"--Harry paused to swallow a carrot stick--"I was meaning to ask you about them."

Araminta's insides clenched, and she knew that it wasn't from the food. "Um," she said, rummaging through the picnic basket and pulling out a handful of green blobes, "peel me a grape, Da...Draco?"

"Certainly," said Draco, taking the fruit from Araminta. "Only the lower wizarding classes eat the peels."

Araminta snickered. Harry, on the other hand, turned pink just like she liked it. "I suppose you've never heard of something called wine, Malfoy?"

Draco cocked his head to one side. "I suppose you've never heard of something called a comb?"

"Argh!" Harry jumped to his feet.

"Wait!" Araminta grabbed him around the leg and held fast. "Don't go away and leave me alone?"

"Hey, what are you insinuating?" Draco blurted, but it had the effect Araminta wanted. Harry reluctantly sat back down on the picnic blanket.

"I'll stay, as long as that jerk doesn't show me his already been chewed (ABC) food. Have some more chicken, Malfoy. It suits you. And if your mouth is full, I don't have to hear you talk since you can't under the ABC rule."

"Bwak bwak bwak," said Malfoy, grinning. He had a little bit of chicken stuck between his teeth.

"Um," said Araminta, making a motion with her hand against her mouth.

Now that they were both suitably embarrassed, Araminta tried to feel them both out. "So, I heard that there was going to be a Quidditch Ball to start off the season. What's that all about?"

"Well," said Harry, "a couple of years ago we had the Tri-Wizard Tournament here, and there was a big Yule Ball, you know, to celebrate. Everybody had such a good time that it's back by popular demand."

"Except this year it will be permissible to come looking like a wretch," Draco put in, smirking.

"Huh?" said Araminta, confused as always.

"What he means," Harry said, his teeth clenched, "is that this year's ball is going to be a costume ball. Everyone has to wear a costume and a mask, and we won't take off the masks until midnight."

"Oh. So, who are you guys going with?" said Araminta.

"Many of us have had to cancel our dates," said Draco, looking bored. "It takes all the fun out of a costume ball if you know who you're dancing with, apparently. So now everyone is working on a disguise, but hinting what it might be to people they want to hook up with--and, on the other hand, people are trying to figure out who is going as what, so they don't hook up with the wrong sort. Wouldn't it be awful to find out that you'd been dancing with Potter all evening?"

Harry couldn't take this anymore. He ground out, "Foretold love, my )*(&^&%!" and then took off for the castle.

Araminta used Scourgify to pack away the picnic things. "So," she said airily, "will you be going as an elf or as a Death Eater?"

Draco grabbed her arm. "Don't ever say that. Don't tell anyone that you know what families might be Death Eaters. It could put you in grave danger."

"I was just kidding, Draco," she said, pulling away. His fingers had left a bruise on her fragile skin. "It's between you and me."

Draco's face softened and one eyebrow shot up to his hairline. "Well, given a choice between a Death Eater and an elf, I think I'd choose elf, actually. I'd make a fabulous one, wouldn't I?"

"You have no idea," Araminta muttered to herself.