Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Harry Potter belong to their respective creators, Joss Whedon and J.K. Rowling.
Warning: major AU.
They all went. Mum, Dad, Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred and George, Ron, and Ginny. Mum made them all put on their good robes, even Dad, and then they followed Uncle Fabian and Uncle Gideon into the Floo. They'd go to Diagon Alley first, Dad said, and then out into Muggle London, where they'd try catching a Muggle cab.
"Alice and Frank are going to be there," Uncle Gideon told them as Mum prepared the Powder. "And the Bones, and Dorcas. Dearborn, Diggle, Fenwick. Moody, of course, and Doge. Maybe the McKinnons."
"No one wants to miss him," said Uncle Fabian, adjusting his tartan. "We don't know the details, but seems Dumbledore had some trouble convincing the fellow to come meet everyone. Quite shy, apparently."
Mum's face was pink with hurry and exhilaration. "I don't know what I'll say!"
Ginny knew who they were talking about. Sort of. Bill had explained it to her—about the time before, when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had been killing lots of people, and there'd been a war that no one really wanted to talk about now, a war that even the history books hemmed and hawed over when she asked them.
A war of black robes and white faces and whorls of green sorcery and newspapers with the headline THE END OF TERROR! THE DARK LORD'S VANQUISHER REMAINS UNNAMED.
She looked up at Bill where he was walking beside her, his hand large and warm around hers. "It's him, Bill? Really?"
He glanced down and smiled. "If Dumbledore says so, it must be."
"Tell us again," George was begging Uncle Gideon. "About that time, in the alley—"
"Well," said Uncle Gideon, throwing his shoulders back.
Uncle Fabian elbowed him in the stomach. "Not now, boys," he told Fred and George as Uncle Gideon bent over wheezing.
Mum's face was white beneath the pink, Dad glancing at her with concern. Bill's hand tightened over Ginny's.
Ginny knew the story. She could have told it herself. Five Death Eaters, screaming curses and Unforgiveables—Uncle Fabian and Uncle Gideon, backed into a corner and fighting for every breath, the Order too late and too far. The dark, the cold, the wet of that September morning—
—and then the figure, black-robed, white sword in one hand and dark wand in the other, falling toward them out of the night.
The fireplace flared green with Powder.
"Be careful," urged Mum, making final adjustments to everyone's cloaks, "and let's keep together, shall we? We want to be on time."
"Seven o'clock," said Uncle Fabian, looking at the clock where all their hands were pointing to Dithering. "We'd better get along sharpish if we want to make it."
Mum frowned, her lips pressed together the way they did when she was worried. She and Dad exchanged a long, meaningful look.
"And be polite," added Mum, though grudgingly. "After all, whatever else you want to say about them, the Black brothers did come through for us in the end."