Disclaimer: I own Ellie, and that's about it. Everything else is JK Rowling's property.

The tent is open, allowing summer breezes to waft the scents of strawberries and lemonade around the area. Its dark out, and the hazy silver light of the moon filters through the flaps of the tent. Inside, the fragrance of romance has all the kids up and dancing, laughing like the giddy, barely-graduated teenagers most of them are. A carpet of gold rolls down the center of the tent, leading to the altar where the bride and groom will soon stand. There are memories to be made here, at this wedding.

"May I have this dance, milady?"

Scorpius sketches her a bow and comes up with a grin on his face and his hand extended towards her.

Lily giggles, bobbing a curtsy. "Of course you may, kind sir," she answers, accepting his hand.

He tugs her hand, sending them to the center of the grass-covered dance floor and gathers her in his arms.

"You're so cliché," she scolds him fondly, an amused smile on her face as he spins them around.

"You love it," he retorts, dipping her till her fire-bright ponytail, lit with streaks of neon blue and gold, brushes the ground.

"You bet," she laughs and leans up for a kiss that tastes of cherry soda and laughter and the sweetness of first love.

It wasn't all that easy to plan a secret wedding, really. There was a lot of hiding and lying and rushing around to make sure all the preparations are in order and everything's going to be perfect. It was even harder considering that the people involved in planning it were…well, not the most peaceful people on the planet. In fact, they were more likely to be nominated for 'Most Dysfunctional Wedding Planning Family Ever'. But, despite the fights and the arguments and the not-so-picture-perfect moments, they managed to get it done. Somehow.

"No, no, no, the cake is supposed to be here at eight p.m.! Who on God's green Earth has a wedding at eight in the morning?"

Lysander reaches out and snaps the cellphone shut. "Nika, sweetheart, darling, love of my life—you should really stop using muggle technology. I think it stresses you out."

Dominique sighs, collapsing against his chest when he pulls her in for a comforting hug. "It's just—this is the first wedding of our generation. And it's my sister's, and I want it to be perfect. Especially since we're going to have to film it in order to appease our parents when they find out what we did."

Lysander gently begins untangling the knots in her copper hair. "Just relax, okay? It's all gonna be fine. Even Vicka's not stressing out about this as much as you are."

Dominique laughs against his chest. "That's because she's had this planned out since she was six. In exactly this same way. With exactly the same groom."

"She's a bit anal-retentive," Lysander admits, grinning. "But, hey, she got her happy ending, didn't she? Didn't we all?"

"Hm," Dominique trails her hands up his torso to snake them around his neck, wedding planning forgotten with one look into his dancing green eyes. "I suppose we did, in the end."

Keeping it a secret was no picnic in the park, either. All of them swear they never slipped up, that the adults never suspected a thing but the truth is, they all did, really. Whether it was a shift of the eyes in the wrong direction or a whispered instruction into the fireplace or a letter left carelessly lying on the ground, they all nearly spilled the beans at one point or another. Strangely, the one who did it the most was neither the guilt-ridden bride (as if; she'd been planning this for years!) nor the remorseful groom (he was totally loving the whole secret wedding idea).

"James, what are you doing?"

"Nothing!" he says hastily, trying not to cower under his mother's razor-sharp glare, honed to perfection by years of practice. "Just…talking to Ellie."

"I can see that," Ginny rolls her eyes, a fond smile on her face. "What are you holding?"

He glances down at the bouquet of blue flowers in his hands, a sample from the florist's. "Um…I was asking her out."

Ellie chokes at the sound of his hastily-thought words. James feels a blush appearing on his cheeks, wishing desperately he was better at thinking on his feet.

"Oh," Ginny says with a significant and highly-amused look at her guest, who seemed to be disappearing into the beanbag chair she was sitting on. "Well, then, sorry about interrupting. You two have fun."

She walks out of his room, sending Ellie a smile as she does so. Ellie smiles weakly back and promptly rounds on James as soon as his door is closed.

"I'm sorry!" he blurts out quickly, backing away and stumbling on his bed. "I just—I'm not very good at lying, and, er, you don't actually have to—well, uh, y'know, go on a d—date with me. I mean, obviously, you don't have to, because I didn't actually ask you out and this is kinda tacky way to do it in the first place and, um—mmph!"

"Uh, yeah," he says dazedly when she pulls back, her fingers wiping raspberry lip gloss off his slightly-numb lips. "That works, too."

It wasn't just the planning and the secret-keeping, of course. There was the still the horror everyone had to face—dancing. Waltzing, in fact. Victoire insisted on it, and they had quickly learned not to refuse the bride something when it came to the day she'd been waiting years for. When she said 'waltz', they said 'which song?', and they didn't complain about it, either. Well, not to her face, anyway. Having a missing bridesmaid or groomsmen would have been rather tragic, after all.

"I do not understand this dance," Albus complains after stepping on Nessie's toes for the fifteenth time that afternoon. "What makes a waltz so special, huh?"

Nessie smiles at him, sitting on a nearby chair to rest her foot. "It's more romantic, is all."

Albus snorts. "Who needs some stupid dance to be romantic? What's wrong with being, says, spontaneously romantic?"

She hops up with only a slight wince this time, and taking his hands in hers. "Nothing, Al. But there's nothing wrong with being non-spontaneously romantic, especially when it's for your cousin's wedding, all right? Now, why don't we try that first step—?"

"I have a better idea," Albus grins, twining his fingers through hers before twirling her around in a crude imitation of the actual waltz they were just practicing.

"Albus!" she laughs, narrowly avoiding a table. "What are you doing?"

"Dancing," he informs her, spinning her out and then back into his arms.

"You're incorrigable," she giggles, clasping her arms around his neck before he dips her to the floor.

"I believe the phrase you're looking for is 'spontaneously romantic'," Albus says cheerfully before lifting her off the floor and towards his lips for a kiss.

Wardrobe was, naturally, the easiest thing to choose. Sorta. Kinda. Maybe. Not really. In fact, despite the fact that the colors—blue and white—had been picked out years ago, Victoire was not OCD enough to design her gown or the bridesmaid dresses. She was also not stupid enough to go shopping with the other girls and had relegated the chore of shopping for dresses that brought out everyone's complexion, from her sister's Veela-white one to Roxanne's caramel-brown one, to one of her poor cousins.

"Are we done yet?"

"No."

"Are we done now?"

"No."

"Are we—"

"Can you help me put this on?"

Lorcan splutters, his whining cut short by the sight of Lucy standing in front of him, a mass of white silk in her arms and an angelic smile on her face.

"I'm joking," she giggles when he starts blushing wildly. "Come on, let's go to the dressing rooms."

"This is still really stupid," Lorcan sulks, sitting in a chair outside the curtain hiding Lucy from him. "I mean, why'd you have to bring me? Why not Lysander?"

"He had a date with Dominique," Lucy answers, and sweeps the curtain aside to pose for him. "What do you think?"

"Um…" Lorcan's eyes widen as he stares at her, wondering just how that dress manages to make her look even more gorgeous than he already denied thinking she was. "Wow."

She smiles, a trademark Weasley blush on her cheeks. "I'm assuming that's a good thing?"

"Um. Yeah. Wow."

Somehow, though, it all manages to come together under that tent, as stars shine down upon the children of heroes. There's laughter in the air, laughter and joy and hope and the promise of a new future, the beginning of a new generation. It's hard to believe that everyone is here, that the wedding has gone off without a hitch, and that the bride is ready to walk down the aisle. It's a picturesque summer's night, with light breezes and cheerful music and an English mist, making everything hazy and romantic and just perfection.

"I'm in love with her," Teddy whispers, the unbreakable smile of a man hopelessly in love on his face as he watches Victoire dance down the aisle.

She's in a blue sundress and sandals; he's wearing a blue vest over a button-up shirt and jeans. Her strawberry-blond curls are loose and unveiled, while his hair is swept into messy, turquoise spikes. Her bridesmaids are dressed in white silk; his groomsmen in white vests instead of blue.

As he sweeps her into his arms and presses a long, lingering kiss to her lips, Teddy can't help but think of how this entire wedding has been the perfect way to show the world just who these children, this still-new and still-learning generation is. There are no parents, no fancy dresses, no tuxedos, no wine, no exotic food, and no crying.

It's completely untraditional. It's completely silly and spontaneous, but it's completely them, and nobody would honestly have this first wedding of their generation any other way.

That's not to say they survived the inevitable storm of questioning from their parents. But it did, eventually, somehow, lead them all to a happily ever after.