First Impressions

Title: First Impressions

Series: Last to Know

Rated: PG13

Pairing: W/Percy

Disclaimer: All things BtVS belong to Joss Whedon, et al. All things HP belong to JK Rowling, et al.

Distribution: The normal places.

Author’s Notes: Yes! Another new fic series from me. Maybe one day my muses will leave me alone long enough for me to finish a fic or three?

Summary: Sometimes what you need is right there in front of you. Unfortunately, that’s also the last thing you ever try.

~*~*~

It was hard to imagine the school without students in it, but that was exactly how Willow found herself on a chilly winter morning. She settled into one of the many large windows over looking the grounds, pulling her cloak tighter around her. There were spells for warmth, charms that she knew by heart, but she didn’t bother. It was only a little coldness, and it was winter, after all. This was the time, if any, to feel that chill.

She missed her students, anyone that saw her would see it in her eyes. Even Snape, cranky as he was, had to admit that she had a special affinity with them that was impossible to deny. And they loved her. She heard it every day, from her fellow Professors and the students alike. Parents owled her on a regular basis to tell her how much they appreciated what she did for their children.

Well. . .all parents except for the Slytherin ones, that was. That vile little House was full of nothing but evil and she had found that she couldn’t crack it, no matter how hard she’d tried. The few owls she had gotten from those parents involved everything from threats to bribes on behalf of their children. It was laughable, really. As if either a threat or bribe was likely to make her change her mind when it came to a student. No, only the students themselves held that power – and Slytherins just weren’t willing to exercise it. Bred to be evil, none of them showed the desire to be anything but.

And she had tried, Goddess knew how hard.

‘No matter,’ she reminded herself silently. ‘I just keep trying ‘til one of them breaks.’

“Professor Rosenberg! Good afternoon!”

The red head looked up, smiling in response to the greeting. Why was she not surprised to see Molly Weasley here with the holidays only just started? That woman was the picture of what a devoted mother should be. Attentive, caring and stern. If Willow didn’t miss her mark, the matron of the Weasley clan was there to meet with the Headmaster about Ron Weasley’s latest scuffle with trouble. Something that, she knew, would land him with two weeks’ of detentions when he returned from the holidays.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Weasley,” she smiled, standing from the window ledge. “How are you?”

The older witch chuckled warmly with a good-natured roll of her eyes. “Just meeting with the Headmaster about Ron. I swear, that boy is almost as much trouble as the twins were. And I thought I asked you to call me Molly.”

Willow grinned, not bothering to remind ‘Molly’ that she had also asked to be called Willow. That was a habit that she was almost sure she would never break her of. She had even heard the other witch refer to Snape as ‘Professor Snape’ on more than one occasion, and they weren’t –that- far apart in age. “He’s a good boy. . .just a little high spirited.”

“Yes, well, his ‘high spirits’ have earned him some extra chores over the holidays.” Molly sighed, obviously very much perturbed over the entire affair. “But what are you still doing here?”

“My plans fell through at the last minute. No sense going all the way back home if no one’s going to be there.” She bit back the bitterness that she had felt when she first got her friends’ owl, knowing that there was nothing to be done about it. Buffy and Dawn had been guilted into visiting their father and she had already known that Xander and Anya were going to be indisposed.

Which left her with absolutely no reason to make the trip back to Sunnydale.

“You poor child,” Molly shook her head. “It must be difficult for you, being so far from home.”

Willow shrugged. “It’s worth it. I’ve learned so much since I came here. And the children are wonderful.”

“All that aside – the holidays are a time for family.” Mrs. Weasley smiled brightly. “I insist that you pack a bag and come stay with us.”

”I couldn’t impose –“ The younger witch shook her head, the invitation touching her nonetheless.

“You won’t be. Besides,” she chuckled. “You already look like one of the family.”

Willow bit the inside of her cheek. It sounded so nice. Not staying in this drafty old school, with only a handful of other Professors for company. And she had always enjoyed the company of Molly and Arthur Weasley when they had come to visit the school. She smiled slowly, nodding.

“Well, if you’re sure. . . “

“Of course, dear. Now you run along and pack a bag. At least a week, you hear?”

~*~*~

An hour later Willow found herself wondering if she hadn’t agreed to live in a madhouse. A very cheerful madhouse, mind you; but still a madhouse. The Burrow, as the Weasleys called their home, was a constant source of activity. In addition to Ron and Harry, Willow was surprised to meet some of the other Weasley siblings, including the infamous twins.

Fred and George were quite the charmers once she got past the part that they would try to trick her into being a guinea pig for one of their pranks if she wasn’t wary. Thankfully Ron and Harry had given her ample warning – though she wondered if that was more out of fear of her retaliating against their grades than for her own personal well-being.

Bill Weasley, the oldest of the seven children, was a good old boy, reminding her in many ways of Xander. The same went for Charlie, with his rough hands from working with the dragons in Romania.

“Of course, there’s also Percy,” Ginny murmured. “He’s supposed to have been here already, but something came up at work.” She rolled her big eyes. “Something –always- comes up at work, if you get my meaning.”

Willow hid a smile. She had heard all about Percy Weasley, though mostly in an indirect way, listening to Ron and the twins grumble about their older and more professional sibling. She had discarded most of the information as biased, hanging onto the bits she knew in case she ever got to meet him. He had been Head Boy and one of the sharpest in his class. Now working at the Ministry, he was extremely devoted to the work he did.

She had the feeling they would get along just fine when, and if, they ever met.

By the time she finally crawled into bed that first night she felt. . .refreshed; as if being around the warmth of a family was enough to recharge the emotional batteries in her own heart that had become so empty during her time away from her friends.

~*~*~

“Professor Rosenberg?”

Willow glanced up from the book in her lap, smiling at the dark haired young wizard that stood beside her chair. “We’re not at school, Harry. You can call me Willow.”

He blushed and shifted from foot to foot, hardly the confident sixth year that he appeared at times. “Do you think you could look over my essay?”

“The one for my class?”

He shook his head. “The one Professor Binns assigned. Two feet on the history of the House Elf.”

She raised her eyebrows, gesturing for the roll of parchment he held in his hand. Had it been the essay she assigned for her own class, on the use of defensive charms as offensive weapons, she would have been forced to tell him know. It would be unfair to the rest of the children in her class. But this was for another Professor and she knew little to nothing about the history of House Elves anyway, so giving him pointers on his grammar wouldn’t hurt.

“House Elves, huh? I’ll look over it later, ‘kay?”

He nodded, flashing her one of those bright smiles that had become such a rarity in the last few months. Times were tough on the students. On everyone, for that matter, she corrected herself silently.

“That’s fine, Prof. . .Willow. I really appreciate it.”

”No problem.” She grinned, thumbing open her book to the page that she had been on. It took her a moment to realize that Harry was still standing there, looking all the more nervous than ever. “Is there something else?”

He fidgeted, licking his lips once. “Well. . you see. . .we were wondering if you wanted to come out back and play Quidditch. . .”

Willow giggled. “Harry, honestly – have you ever seen me on a broom?”

“Well, no,” he shrugged. “Then again, you teach Magical Theory. . .not Flying.”

She nodded. “Understandable – but I’ll let you in on a little secret . . . I’m horrendous at flying. Absolutely awful. If I get out there you’ll be fishing me out of a tree in no time.”

Harry snickered. “Come watch? Maybe you’ll pick up a few pointers.”

What harm would it do to watch? Perhaps he was right, but – “Alright, I’ll watch. But don’t hold your breath for ever seeing me on one of those floating death traps.”

He led her, laughing, to the back of the Weasley household. It was large, though not quite enough for a standard Quidditch pitch. Improvised hoops had been set up on either side, with enough room in the middle that they wouldn’t be flying into each other unless they really tried. She settled into a chair near the back door, giving a small wave to the participants. Charlie, Fred and Ron versus Harry, George and Bill. Or was that the other way around? George with Charlie and Ron. . .Fred with Harry and Bill. She really couldn’t tell those two apart – and asking them for assistance was even more confusing than just guessing on her own.

Quidditch, as she learned in that next hour, was even more exciting on a small pitch with only half the players, than it was when observing all the normal guidelines. Each player, with the exception of the Keepers, found themselves doubling as chaser, beater, seeker. It was a true test of their varied skills and abilities to watch them try to play positions they normally wouldn’t even have tried.

She shifted, her legs feeling numb. Time had certainly flown by. Standing, the red head stretched out aching muscles until they no longer felt as if they were asleep. She turned, heading back into the house. The others wouldn’t even notice she’d left, except for maybe Ginny. The younger witch had made a point to come over every so often, breaking from her referee duties to make sure her Professor was alright.

“Need any help?” Willow offered immediately upon seeing Molly Weasley bustling around the kitchen.

”Oh, thank you dear, but no. Just go relax. The boys are still playing?”

Willow nodded, grinning. “I don’t think they’re anywhere near quitting, either.”

Molly rolled her eyes, but there was a twinkle of amusement in them. “There’s some fresh pumpkin juice on the counter, if you like. Could you take a glass to Percy? He just got in and looked a little haggard.”

“Of course,” she smiled. So the great Percy Weasley had finally made an appearance. The anticipation of it all was almost enough to set the butterflies to trampling in her stomach. She plucked two glasses and the jug of juice from the tray – strolling quietly to the living room.

Where she got her first view of Percy Weasley.

His mother was right, she concluded almost immediately, he did look haggard. There were dark circles under eyes that she could just tell usually sparkled with enthusiasm and energy. His hair was rumpled, and his robes looked like he might have slept in them the night before.

Yet he was still gentleman enough to jump to his feet the moment he noticed her.

“Hello.” He greeted. “You must be Professor Rosenberg. Mother said you’d be here for the holidays.”

She nodded, flashing him a smile. “She insisted. Juice?”

“Oh, yes, please.” He murmured, settling back into his chair with a sigh.

Willow poured him a glass, passing the cool liquid over to him. He drank slowly, eyes half-closing in what she could only describe as bliss.

“You look tired,” she commented off-handedly, hoping that he wouldn’t take offense.

“Yes, well,” he shrugged. “Work. I’m sure you know how that is, teaching at Hogwarts.”

She didn’t have the heart to disagree. Not a night went by that she didn’t force herself to get a good amount of sleep. It was not within her nature to deny herself those basic requirements at this stage of her life; not as Percy was so obviously doing. But he didn’t need to hear that. Especially not with his mother being who she was. Knowing Molly, she lectured him on a regular basis about taking care of himself.

“Work can be hard at times,” she nodded sympathetically. “Your brothers and sister are out back, by the way.”

”Playing Quidditch – I heard them when I came in. Were you playing?”

She laughed. “No. As I told Harry – I’m dreadful on a broom. Comes from spending most of my life not believing in magic, I assume.”

“You’re muggle-born, right?”

“Yes.” Her reply was even, steady. She knew the other Weasleys didn’t have a problem with muggle-borns, but that didn’t mean that the trait had carried through in all of their children. And Percy –did- work at the Ministry, a place that was quite populated with those that felt that purebloods were the only ones truly worthy in wizarding society.

Her feelings must have been transparent, though; because Percy sat up straighter, an apologetic look entering his eyes.

“I meant nothing by it, I assure you.”

She nodded. “It’s alright. I guess I’m too used to certain students –“

”Slytherins?”

“Right.” Her smile was tight, thin. “They’re . . .”

“Difficult. Brain washed.” He offered with a small smile of his own. He ran a hand back through his short red hair. It was lighter than her own, she realized with a start. Lighter than most of his family’s. Almost a dark strawberry blonde. “You can hardly blame them, brought up around such prejudice.”

“I know. That doesn’t make it any less difficult, though.”

“I can imagine.” He nodded. “We’re trying to pass anti-hate laws at the moment. But those are hard going. Too many former Slytherins in the Ministry. They’ve worked their way right into the heart of things.”

She smiled gently, wondering if this is what had kept him up for late nights. “It’s worth fighting for, though.”

“Yes,” his assent was weary. “It is.”

Willow leaned back in her chair, sipping at her own glass of juice. When the silence stretched out between them it was far from uncomfortable. In fact. . .it felt just right.

And when their conversation picked up again it lasted until dinner time.

She was right, she thought as she went to bed that night, her and Percy Weasley would get along just fine.

~*~End Part~*~