AN: A Marriage Law fic, but of a different flavour. Enjoy!

When dreams of the future become more than we imagined,

All our hopes expand beyond the horizons.

It was all Hermione's fault. Ron grumbled in the corner of the crowded room, looking around for people he recognised. A presence flopped on the couch next to him; looking, he saw his sister.

"You get sucked into this as well?" he asked her. She nodded glumly.

"Don't know why she thinks this will work. But, hey, she's smart and her logic's alright. Just don't know if any of us will actually gel."

Ron snorted. "When she blew me off, I was pretty sure she had her eye set on someone… And now I find out that, no, she didn't… she just had this hopeless need to redeem the entire Death Eater population of England. I wouldn't be surprised if she takes up with Marcus Flint, the way she's been going on."

Ginny gagged. "Oh, Ron, that's gross… You want a gross picture? Imagine Harry and Millicent Bulstrode." She laughed when Ron spluttered his drink.

"Evil woman."

"If I was an evil woman, I wouldn't be… Well, ok, yes I would be here, but I'd be on the other side of the table."

Ron and Ginny subsided into silence, watching the people mill around them. There was polite conversation, subdued, and clear segregation caused by the long table that extended down the middle of the room. After long minutes – in which Ron swore to himself that he'd never be early for a meeting ever again – Hermione and Harry appeared on the platform at the front of the room.

"Hello, everyone. It's good to see you all here," Harry said. Ron rolled his eyes. Hermione had him under the thumb. Not that he'd ever date her. No, no, Harry knew better than that. "Hermione will read to you the Marriage Law again, and then we will allow mingling. Please – no hexing. If you can't keep it civil, move on to someone else. Thankyou!"

He'd better not be dating Hermione. That would keep him out of this pool of misery. Hermione cleared her throat, proceeded to read the piece of Legislation that she had single-handedly pushed through the Wizengamot.

"The Marriage Law is an effort to correct certain aberrations within Wizarding society. The trend of war, civil dissatisfaction and treason must be stopped. The most effective way of correcting this is to manage prejudices within marriage relationships to ensure that a balanced outlook is assured for any and all offspring produced. As such, testing will be put in place to measure prejudice. Effective immediately, all Marriages must be applied for through the Ministry of Magic. Any person achieving a score of 650 or above on the prejudice scale will be obligated to marry a person whose score is less than 450. Persons achieving a score under 650 will not be obligated to regulate their relationship choices, unless that person happens to have achieved a score of above 650. Upon receipt of an application for marriage, a thorough psychological examination will take place to ensure that no cheating is involved. If the analyst has any suspicion of tampering, the Ministry retains the right to halt marriage proceedings until the matter is resolved.

"Thankyou for your participation," Hermione said. "We do understand that this law changes a great many things for many of you. Please don't see this as an attack on you personally, but rather a wholehearted attempt to avoid strife such as the Wizarding world has seen over the past decades. We will be encouraging any person with a score under 450 to be open to meeting those with a score over 650, and it is with this intention that we will open the floor. I urge you, as Harry has also, please not to become violent: it is much easier to move on. Thankyou." Hermione stood back, waved her wand and the tables shortened and moved, filling with food and beverages. Music wafted in from somewhere.

"What does she think this is, a Hogwarts party or something?" Ron grumbled.

Ginny groused next to him on an entirely different theme. "What a stupid way to try and integrate society. Doesn't she understand that the foundation for a sound marriage is a basis of compatible beliefs? Or, should I say prejudices? Can you imagine a whole generation of witches and wizards growing up, knowing that their parents have been forced together by some stupid Ministry regulation?"

"I don't know much about that, Gin," Ron muttered, "but I don't know what I'd talk about with Daphne Greengrass, let alone how I'd socialise with her friends… It'll be a disaster." The woman in question was leaning against a table, her attention riveted on Neville Longbottom. Her blonde hair seemed to make up for her otherwise boring face, and Neville seemed to be having a hard time keeping his composure. Ron wondered what on earth she was saying.

"Well, guess we'd better circulate and support our friend's law," Ginny said lightly, bouncing to her feet. Ron dragged himself up, wondering what had gotten into his sister. He watched her waltz across the room, greet a few people casually – as if this was, actually, Hogwarts – and finally watched her strike up a conversation with Draco Malfoy. Ron could feel himself becoming green at the gills. It was with a great effort that he stopped himself from rushing across the room to ask the girl what on earth she was doing.

Because, from the look of it, Malfoy was coming out of it the worse. A light flush was rising on his face, and he couldn't seem to figure out what to look at – her hair, her face, her chest… Forcing himself to be objective, Ron found himself chuckling at Malfoy's unease. Ginny was nobody to be toyed with.

"What's so funny?" The voice in his ear made him jump.

"Merlin, Parkinson, what are you doing sneaking up on me like that?"

She gave him an amused look. "I didn't do any sneaking. You were far too interested in watching whatever's going on over there to pay any attention to me. What is going on over there, by the way?" She peered down his line of sight.

After watching for a moment, she started laughing deep in her throat. "Oh, poor Drakie. She's got him wound up and he wasn't expecting it at all…"

"What, you're not going to go over and claim him?"

"To what use? I'm not allowed to marry him. And," she waved a hand at him, "we went over that ground too many times. We're no good for each other. I notice you're not charging in to look after your baby sister, though?"

Ron shrugged, stuck his hands in his pockets. "She seems to be looking after herself alright." He turned to face Parkinson. "Why are you talking to me, though?"

Parkinson gave him a half-smile. "Oh, turning on the charm, aren't you Weasley?" She laughed. "No, don't worry, I'd ask you the same question if you casually walked up to me and started chatting. I was just wandering around, looking for the white wine, and – lo and behold – right next to you. So, I thought, why not say hello? We've been instructed to be polite, and all." She inclined her head in the direction of the stage where Harry and Hermione were now conspicuously absent.

"Wonder where they went?" he mused.

"Oh, I'm sure they're far too important to be sucked into this marrying blood traitor business," she said with a flick of her hair. Ron frowned, began to say something, but she interrupted. "The blood traitors being us, Weasley, not you. You won the war, that's the way the history books are written. The good guys win; because the winners write the books and authorise the curriculum."

Ron mused on this, pouring a glass of wine for Parkinson and then one for himself as well. Might as well make the most of the amenities. If Harry and Hermione weren't going to participate, then he might as well make sure that he made sure they paid for it – even if it was in wine.

"A toast," he said, raising his glass to Parkinson.

"To what?"

"To… blood traitors," he said, carefully measuring her face as he said it.

Luckily, she chuckled. "And to pureblood trash," she added, raising her glass and chinking it against his.

Five hours later, Ron considered that he should stop drinking if he ever wanted to be able to stumble to his bed. He was slouched on a couch, with a few girls surrounding him. He supposed that the stories he was telling were funny, because they all giggled in the appropriate places (and occasionally in inappropriate places). The one next to him was feeding him grapes. He supposed that he might be in heaven.

Suddenly, however, the girls – one by one – got looks of terror on their faces and jumped up, made excuses and left. Ron was quite bemused by this, not quite able to discover why this phenomenon was occurring.

"Gah," Ginny said as she flopped next to her brother. "That was the most fun I've had in years."

"Did you scare off those girls?" He slurred.

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry." She said unrepentantly. "Well, I'm off home. You need help apparating?"

"Nah," he said, "I'll use the floo, I think."

"That's a good idea. And drink some water," she said, peering into his bleary eyes. "I think you've overindulged." Ron, for some reason, thought that her phrasing was funny, and he was still giggling when she sighed and left.

But that couch was lonely on his own, and people were leaving the party in increasing numbers. He frowned petulantly, wobbled to his feet. He was having fun. Where was everyone going? Someone stumbled into him, grabbed an arm around his waist to keep balance. Ron found himself leaning on the person as much as they were leaning on him.

"Oh, Weasley," Parkinson said, "Strange to run into you again. Great wine, hey? Mmm… You apparating home?"

"Think I'd better not… I was having fun until my sister came and scared away all the girls…" He frowned.

"Hey, I'm a girl," she said, placing her free hand on her hip and trying to stand straight. She ended up stumbling for a moment before she caught herself on Ron again, who wobbled, then collapsed on the couch behind him taking Parkinson with him. This was all too funny, and they both giggled for long minutes.

"You fell over," Parkinson whispered, chuckling.

"So did you," he said, turning to look at her. He noticed that his face was actually quite close to hers.

"Are you trying to make free with my drunken person?" Parkinson gabbled out, crossing her eyes at him.

"Wouldn't think of it," he said, taking note of the smattering of freckles on the top of her upturned nose, the slight speckle of golden flecks in her dark eyes.

"Good, because I'm tired." She pulled her wand from somewhere and made the couch stretch out to a comfortable length to sleep on. Throwing an arm over his chest, she burrowed into his neck and promptly fell asleep.

Ron stared down at her for a moment in confusion before the alcohol got the better of him and he also fell into a deep sleep.

Ginny crept back, grinned fiercely and threw a blanket over the two. Then, she apparated home.