Blaise had sat while others stood and shouted, too stunned to move. He could hear a ripple of angry whispers growing around him and he felt himself say the first thing that fell out of his mouth,
"I need to get very very drunk, as soon as possible."
He found his head snapping sideways at the sound of an amused snort, but it wasn't Draco that made the noise—it was Potter—of all people. He wondered abstractly when the Boy Wonder had grown a sense of humor, and how exactly he'd missed that Draco was seated next to the savior of wizarding Britain. He'd been caught up in a conversation with Theo about families he traded with upon entering the forum, therefore, it must have been Theo's fault.
Speaking of, Theo could stop fishing for a bride, it seemed he was going to get one, or possibly be issued one, in rather short order. Blaise wondered if this would even affect him, he wasn't technically a British citizen, just a resident. His first stepfather had been British, and had insisted they started the naturalization process, but he couldn't recall ever finishing it after being accepted to Hogwarts and the man's death shortly thereafter. He'd have to check on that, immediately.
He was vaguely aware of Minister Shacklebolt explaining to the now quieted crowd that the law, Temporary Social Decree No. 928, would not effect couples that were already married—and that divorcees, widows, and widowers could opt out of aligning themselves with a new partner should they chose—but that they were still likely to feel the effects of the land binding along with the rest of the population. This was the moment that the Minister said something very curious indeed,
"Should anyone who has already been married not desire to participate, in two days time, simply swat the parchment bee."
This was the moment Blaise heard that the buzz still present in the room wasn't people whispering anymore, but instead, it was coming from the front of the forum room and it was growing louder. All of the Unspeakables, including Granger, were holding bale lid jars about the size of a human torso, and they'd lifted the lids.
...
Draco watched with oddly detached interest as the mass of tiny buzzing beings rippled and swarmed out of the jars towards the ceiling, then seemed to expode out of their clumps like tiny fireworks. He noticed Granger still standing on the dais with her hand out, palm open and up, while a tiny parchment bee landed on the back of his own hand and spread its wings out wide. The wings were the same creamy ivory as the rest of the bee, its stripes were made up of tiny printed text, but he couldn't read it. The little beast hummed happily, buzzing and fluffing its wings on the back of his hand until he began to rotate his wrist like Granger had already done. It tickled as it walked between his thumb and forefinger to settle itself in the middle of his palm.
He was struck by the ingenius bit of Charms work, and was considering who might have come up with the idea of tiny parchment bees when the damn thing stung him right in the middle of his palm. He pulled his hand towards his chest, apparently the Ministry wasn't waiting two days for single people to deal with the bees, but rather getting it over with now. Potter was watching as several people near them in the crowd had little beats either sitting on their shoulders, or else were flinching as they too were stung. He looked to his other side to see Blaise staring upwards, no bee in sight, as if waiting. That's when it hit him, Blaise wasn't a citizen, this law likely didn't effect him. Theo was on Blaise's other side, hissing in pain while trying to keep his palm flat and open.
Draco looked back at his bee—it had unfurled to reveal his signature spelling itself out, exactly as he would have written it—in what was more than likely his own blood instead of ink. He had a moment to turn the scrap of now inanimate parchment over and finally read the text aloud with quiet fervency,
"A man does not recover from such a devotion of the heart to such a woman! He ought not; he does not."
Theo looked up at Draco, then inspected his own scrap of parchment and read his in a whisper,
"When I saw you, I fell in love, and you smiled because you knew."
Potter was suddenly chuckling to himself, and the small line of former Slytherins all turned to stare at him, their expressions painted in a clearly scornful light, inquiring with their eyebrows alone as to just what was so funny. When Potter finally looked up and saw this, he began to laugh aloud in earnest. Theo's tone was acidic when he finally was annoyed enough to form words,
"You think this is funny because you've managed to escape it, Potter?"
Potter kept laughing, but shook his head and started taking in gulps of air, as if filling his lungs might stop his mirth. He held up an index finger and held his breath simultaneously for a moment before exhaling and speaking,
"No, it's funny because she charmed them with love quotes from Muggle literature, probably to try to make everyone feel better about it."
All four pairs of eyes turned immediately to one Hermione Granger, still on the dais, now healing her own palm with her wand. Potter kept speaking,
"She told me that she charmed text on to them, and that each bee was to find the person who would seek the content of the text most. She used a resonance charm, usually used to make the sound of bells travel further. That being said, Malfoy here seems to want a love match which is not wholly unexpected, and Nott, despite months of hunting for a dowry-laden bride, likely hasn't settled down yet because he really wants peace and contentment." Potter paused and looked contemplative for a moment before facing Blaise,
"Where's yours Zabini?"
"Not a citizen, didn't get one." Potter nodded, and out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw Minister Shacklebolt rise from having his own hand healed—again by Granger—to retake his speaking position. He raised his wand and shouted,
"Accio names!" Draco watched as the Minister held open a familiar ratty bit of fabric—perhaps a pouch he'd seen before—and aimed the fluttering masses of parchments scraps into it. Shacklebolt then turned and re-addressed the room,
"The Sorting Hat will now be used to make matches based on values, its knowledge of students—as it remembers everyone it has ever sorted—and based upon magical signatures in the blood." Draco felt all the color, such as it was, leave his face at those words, but the Minister continued speaking,
"Each person will received word from the Ministry when the pairings have been completed, and we will will have solicitors available to help draft marriage contracts for those that desire them. Those who have been sorted with a partner have eight weeks to court and marry. The Ministry will be performing marriage rites en masse, but if youd' rather have a private rite, I suggest you plan and accomplish it before the eight week deadline is up."
Draco subtly moved to nudge Blaise in the ribs, hard, and whispered grittily into his lover's ear,
"We need to talk—Now. Manor in ten minutes?"
...
Blaise had watched Draco shoot out of his seat, and once Theo had muttered about needing to go get drunk, Blaise Apparated to the Manor as requested, only to find Draco pacing his bedroom rapidly. Blaise hesitated for a moment, assessing his lover, trying to figure out if thsi was a fit of temper or anxiety from body language alone. Blaise rolled his sage-green eyes after a moment and poured himself into a club-chair, as he'd mentally arrived at anxiety, not anger, and Draco would likely begin pouring out words any moment. He was not disappointed:
"Did you hear what the Minister said?"
"Yes, Draco, you're going to be married, we knew this would happen eventually."
"No, not that, the bit about the methods the Sorting Hat would be using!"
Blaise rolled his eyes again, and found himself reciting as if to a child,
"Yes, on it's memory, the values presumably 'resonated' by Granger's text on the parchment, and by magical signature in the—" This is where he paused, seeing suddenly what had made Draco so nervous,
"Merlin's Bollocks. The blood." Draco's face was drawn, wide-eyed as he whisper-shouted,
"Yes, thank you for finally catching on!" Blaise took a deep breath, he knew that Draco's temper would take over if he became snarky in this moment, so he refrained and took a deep breath,
"We'll have to wait and see who it is then, and if we think we can explain it to her, and make it work, we do that. If it won't, we say nothing, and I keep my urges to myself."
"That would likely drive you mad, Blaise, and you know it."
"But I would make the effort, nonetheless, for you and for your bride." Draco's hands were suddenly on either side of his face and he was being kissed hard. He knew this was an expression of gratitude, nerves, self-comforting, and affection, but it didn't stop the taunt bolt of lust in his gut. The almost-itching sensation was back, and if Draco's sudden shiver was any indication, he felt it too. Draco released his mouth and spoke, but didn't let go of his face,
"That itching must be the land-binding, and you're only feeling it because I am. Oh Merlin, this is already fucking unbearable." Blaise found himself giving an exasperated sigh,
"No, Draco, the Dark Lord was unbearable. This is merely complicated and inconvenient. Now let's have a whiskey, go to bed, and we'll figure out the next step as soon as you get a letter from the Ministry."
...
Hermione woke the day after the announcement in the Ministry forum with a blinding headache, to the deeply irritating sounds of songbirds outside her windows. Her eyes narrowed, and while she recognized that she was likely being taciturn and unreasonable, she still wanted the apparently very happy birds to Shut The Hell Up.
She was achey this morning, her joints swollen and creakily protesting both consciousness and motion. Coffee first or shower first, either way, they were going to be blisteringly hot, and the only thing that got her out of bed. It was only in these private moments of early morning pain that she mentally conceded that house elves as servants sounded wonderful—no wonder wizards kept them—but it smacked too much of slavery for her to be able to take the thought any further.
She opted for a long shower with the lights off, and stayed in the dim cubicle until her skin appeared to turn from a dull lavender-grey to a dark brown. She wasn't expected back to her desk in the DMLE until next week, as the Unspeakables no longer needed her help, so when Kingsley told her to take the rest of the week to herself, she did. Far be it from her to ignore a near command from both a friend and the Minister for Magic, and Kingsley had chuckled when she told him exactly that.
She sat to dry her hair and thought for a moment, trying to discern her feelings about the land binding in general, and the Marriage Law she'd helped draft in particular. There was an unconscious harrumph when she heard Ron in her head, saying something about he was likely the only wizard on earth who would have the 'short, prissy, demanding swot' anyway, and hoped to Merlin and Erzulie that the Sorting Hat didn't think to pair her with him. She disliked that this whole thing had brought her insecurities to the forefront, but she might as well examine them.
Did she think Ronald Billius WEasley was the only wizard in the world who would have her? No—not only was it statistically unlikely—but she knew that Ron had always been prone to fits of temper, and tended to lash out verbally as soon as he was mentally backed into a corner. Was she worried that she might be paired up with someone she might not feel affection for? Yes—that did seem to be a bit of a worry, as she had always hoped to marry for love like her parents had—but she also trusted the Sorting Hat. It had taken it's sweet time sorting her in the first place, arguing for Ravenclaw, and only considering her bold and red-hot streak for justice pulled it out of the Hat Stall to sort her into Gryffindor.
She almost felt a little relieved at the prospect of not having to go back into the wide world of dating, which ad been largely disastrous for her after she and Ron split. She had tried though, and the few dates she'd gone on with various wizards Ginny had set her up with were variably successful. Oliver Wood had even managed to get himself invited back to her old flat in London, and they'd had a heated snog against the Floo mantle, but he'd balked at the sight of all the scars across her torso when she'd removed her shirt. He said seeing them reminded him of the War, and he'd apologized and left shortly thereafter. And there was another insecurity to examine:
Would her body and her history be troubling to her new, hypothetical partner? Would she have to explain each one to make them understand, or heaven forbid, would she have to glamour them all the time? Would she have to glamour her tattoos or explain those too? Ugh. The entire exercise only served to remind her why dating had been so uncomfortable and why it hadn't taken her long to start saying no to Ginny's dating suggestions. It did harden her resolve in one regard though—she'd commit to whomever the Hat said was her match and try to grow the kind of relationship she really wanted—if for no other reason than that she was wholly against dating ever again.
She returned to her room and dressed in clean linen pajamas and a long pullover, having no intention of leaving the house today, but still wanting fresh clothes. When she arrived in her kitchen, there was an eagle owl perched outside the window waiting patiently to be let in, so she put off her coffee. This was the second time she'd seen Malfoy's owl, and decided to say hello despite not knowing the beast's name,
"Well, you're very polite to have waited for me instead of tapping my window apart, let's get you some bacon for your trouble."
The bird seemed to stand straighter and puffed up a bit on the edge of her sink, as if proud and at attention. The bird also seemed to be watching her closely, anticipating all things fried and porcine, but too well mannered to jump and hoot with excitement.
"You remind me a great deal of your owner," she chuckled at the bird and retrieved the note from a leather tube on its ankle while it daintily picked bits of cold bacon from her palm. Its beak brushed her 'bee sting' from the day prior, and while she hissed in pain, she managed not to flinch, as it would likely get her nipped. Bacon gone, the bird bowed its head slightly, hopped to the windowsill and waited—she got the hint and read the note:
Per our earlier correspondence, I was wondering if myself and Blaise Zabini could come to your home today to learn the Patronus? Please send Hera back with your answer.
"Hera?" The bird faced her and bowed again, "A lovely name for a powerful woman." She scribbled her agreement and address at the bottom of his note and as Hera took off with it, she finally made herself a coffee. She could clean the house before her guests arrived, and prep for lunch. Tunes, cleaning required tunes.