Title: Proper
Author: Jinni (druscilla@cox.net)
Rated: R
Pairing: W/Percy
Genre: BtVS/HP Crossover.
Disclaimer: All things BtVS belong to Joss Whedon, et al. All things HP belong to JK Rowling, et al.
Distribution: Moonlit Paths sites only.
Author's Note: A birthday prezzie for a list member.
Note2: TQC Response: http://quickie.moonlitpaths.com

~*~*~*~

She was everything a witch shouldn't be.

That's how Percy felt, at least.

Willow Rosenberg, newest employee of the Ministry, was nothing but trouble if you asked him.

But no one was asking him.

Not a single person.

And, when he tried to voice his opinions, they were met with stony silence and times and outright hostility at others.

He sighed, brushing a piece of hair from his forehead. It was getting long again, almost time to stop by the barber and have it cut. It just wouldn't do for him to have one hair out of place, once piece that was too long for a standard cut. Yes, time to schedule that appointment.

"Percy - the Minister wants to see you."

And there she was now, standing in the doorway of his office, hands on her hips. She refused to wear robes like the other witches that worked at the Ministry. No, she was all about jeans and these disgusting little shirts that showed off the flat of her stomach and that adorable little belly ring she had right through her navel.

Merlin - adorable?

He gave himself a mental shake. It wouldn't do to be having those kind of thoughts about her. She wasn't his type. Too off the wall. Too much of a non-conformist.

"Shake yourself out of la-la land, Oh Mighty Uptight One. Like I said, the Minister wants to see you."

Not to mention the fact that she existed solely to make his life miserable.

"I'll be right there." He snapped, glaring down at the paperwork on his desk. When he looked up she was still there, arms crossed and a smile on her face. "Don't you have work to do?"

"Yours and mine, apparently, Percy the Daydreamer." She snorted, wandering off out of his line of sight. He sighed, slapping his forehead with the palm of his hand. Why was it that she could always get the better of him? She made it seem to effortless, like she wasn't even trying. But, surely, it couldn't be some kind of innate talent to make his life miserable. She had to be doing it on purpose.

Just had to be.

A minute later he left the solitude and quiet order of his office, wandering through the halls of the Ministry. Wizards and witches were busy at their desks, speaking to automated quills, trying to get their daily reports filed. His own had been done the day before, the work on his desk, whether Willow knew it or not, was tomorrow's batch of reports. That was just his way - why wait 'til tomorrow to do what he could just as easily get done today?

"The Minister is expecting you," Janyce, the Minister's personal assistant chirped, gesturing for him to go on into the office. Percy nodded, giving her the barest of smiles. He reached up, straightened his tie, gave one perfunctory tug at his robes, and wandered into the Minister of Magic's office.

The Minister of Magic, Dominic Tribley, had replaced Fudge after the defeat of Voldemort; a change that Percy was not pleased with. Fudge, for all that he had been a supporter of the Dark Lord, had maintained a sense of order and propriety that Minister Tribley just didn't feel the need to keep. Thus the reason that Willow was allowed to walk around in her tight little jeans and stomach-showing shirts. And that was when she wasn't wearing those short skirts that rode up a little in the back when she leaned over to get files out of the cabinets. Or the shirts that showed the sloping curve of her breasts whens he tilted forward just a bit --

There he went again! Thinking of her in -that- way! The way that was improper and dirty. And she wasn't even deserving of those type of thoughts. She wasn't the type of woman he could ever take home to his parents. She wasn't a proper witch.

She didn't even use a wand, for Merlin's sake!

"Percy! Come in, come in," Dominic Tribley greeted loudly, rising from his desk to shake hands with his employee. "Sorry to call you away from your work so suddenly, but a little matter came up that I think you could be the perfect wizard to help with."

Percy raised his eyebrows, a warm glow of pride sweeping through him. So his hard work hadn't gone unnoticed by the current Minister. Well, that was a small ounce of relief. Maybe he would make Deputy Minister one day, after all.

"It seems that we never recorded the facts of a certain Hellmouth from one of our employees. She has offered to write up the report herself, of course; but I would rather it be done by someone outside of the situation."

The younger wizard nodded absently. Something about this seemed familiar. A Hellmouth and an employee who apparently had knowledge of the Hellmouth.

"Would you be willing to interview her on her experiences on the Hellmouth assisting the Slayer and then write up a report for Ministry records?"

"I would be honored to assist with this." Percy gushed, still wondering who this mystery witch was.

"Good!" Minister Tribley grinned. "I'll tell Willow that you're going to be the one to do the interview. I'm sure she'll be just as pleased to work with you as you seem to be to work with her."

Percy felt his face drain of color. "Willow? Rosenberg?"

"Yes," the Minister nodded, already shuffling around the papers on his desk, getting ready for his next meeting. He glanced up, a twinkle in his eyes. "Who else did you think it would be? She's the only witch we currently have on staff that's lived on the Hellmouth. Tell you what - make it a dinner interview. The two of you have both been working so hard - you deserve it. On the Ministry of course - I'll make reservations for the two of you tonight at Eduardo's - in Moonlight River. You've heard of it?"

Percy nodded. Of course he had heard of it. The restaurant was one of the most famous in the wizarding world and Moonlight River was one of the classiest of the new wizarding housing communities. But - with Rosenberg? Doing the interview would be bad enough, having to endure dinner in an upclass restaurant with her would be even worse.

"Sir - really. That's not necessary. I can do the interview right here, before we get off of work."

"I insist!" The Minister chuckled, that same twinkle lingering in his eyes. "In fact - call it an order. Take her out, get the story, and try to have a little fun."

There was nothing he could say or do to change the Minister's mind, it seemed. And now he had been ordered to carry through with this ridiculous evening out. He sighed, forcing a smile on his face. "I'll just be getting back to my work, sir."

"Very well. The reservations will be in your name for seven tonight."

Percy turned, managing not to let his abject terror show on his face until he reached the safety of his office.

What was he going to do?

~*~*~

"You two can come out now."

Snickering, George and Fred Weasley piled from the large wooden cabinet on the far side of the Minister's office.

"Right good show, that was." Fred chuckled.

"Have to agree with you on that one, brother dear." George echoed, also laughing. "Stuffy old Percy, forced to go to dinner with the troublesome Willow Rosenberg."

"Right," Fred spoke up again. "The same Willow Rosenberg that he can't stop speaking about. Day in and day out. All we hear about at home is 'Rosenberg this' and 'Willow that'. He can't get her out of his bloody mind!"

Minister Tribley grinned outright. "Well now we've set the two of them up. The rest is up to them. If you're right --"

"If we're right," George chimed in, "Percy will be ten times less tense tomorrow morning."

"Now," Dominic rubbed his hands together, "Do you have those new gags you said you'd show me?"

~*~*~

She had said she would meet him at the restaurant at five to seven, and so Percy had simply agreed. It would be much simpler that way, rather than picking her up wherever it was that she lived. He flicked a piece of imaginary dust off of his dress robes. The time was now five to seven, and she wasn't there. Just like her, to blow off a date without bothering to let him know. He would be sure to let the Minister know in the morning just what he thought of Miss Rosenberg's inconsiderateness.

"Percy - sorry I'm late. Had to run my dress by a one hour cleaner's."

There she was, right in front of him. How the hell could she sneak up on him like that? Without a sound or even drawing his attention?

"Are you okay?" Her brow was furrowed and she looked genuinely worried. It was all a ruse, though - he was sure of it.

"Fine," he stammered. "Just fine. Why do you ask?"

She shrugged. "You just seemed --" Another shrug. "I don't know. Let's go in?"

He nodded, letting her walk ahead of him. It gave him a chance to look over what she was wearing - or what little of it he could see. Most of her ensemble was covered by an ankle-length black cloak. It looked to be made of velvet, maybe even that new mix of silk and suede that some of the higher class seamswitches had invented a few months prior. It flowed and moved around her body like a great overcoat of black liquid. That was all of her clothing that he could see, aside from the heels she was wearing on her feet, deadly-looking delicate little spikes. How women could balance on those things, he had just no clue. But she managed to do it with a grace and beauty that was beyond comprehension, her body swaying from left to right as she walked, a movement too dainty to be called a swagger. Much too gentle.

There! He was doing it again! Idolizing her in his mind when she was, in reality, the last thing on this earth that he wanted. He sighed, wondering if the clothing beneath the robe would meet even the dress code for this place, or would he end up embarassed and blushing, just as she was wont to do to him?

"Reservations for two," he murmured to the hostess. "Under the name Weasley."

She scanned down the scroll of names, finding what she was looking for and then tapping a place on her map of the restaurant with one elegantly manicured fingernail. "Right this way. The Minister was quite insistent that the two of you have one of our private booths."

"Private?" He choked out, glancing next to him to see if Willow had noticed. She had not, too busy gazing around the building in quiet awe. It was breathtaking, he had to admit. The way the ceiling had been enchanted to look like a nighttime summer sky. The tiles of the floor were painted with different flowing scenes of the same summer setting. It was enough to make most just stop and stare, sometimes even forgetting their dinner entirely.

The hostess led them back of the restaurant, to one of the booths in the corner. It was shrouded in darkness, with only candles to light their way.

"Here we go - your waiter will be right over to get your drink order."

And then they were alone. Him and the miserable excuse for a witch that --

He just couldn't get out of his head.

His eyes locked on where her fingers were picking at the top button of her cloak, and a sense of gentlemanly right took over. If they were going to do this then they were going to do this right.

"Allow me." His fingers brushed hers as he unclasped the button, swinging the cloak from her shoulders in a flourish. He looked down, folding up the flimsy cloak into a neat bundle before looking back up at his 'date' for the evening.

She was gorgeous.

As much as he didn't want to admit it - there was no true way to deny it. The dress she was wearing was one of the more fashionable he had seen sometimes in passing through Diagon Alley. It was held up with two tiny straps of green silk, the same color as the dress, that disappeared over her shoulders with a small gleaming clasp on either side. The flowing green material hugged tightly to her upper body, accentuating the curves of her chest before tapering at her tiny waist. He swallowed hard, picturing the belly button ring that lurked beneath that silk. The one that caught his eye on almost a daily basis, creating disturbing thoughts of lust.

Just like now.

She slid into the booth and he took that as his own sign to do the same, forcing away thoughts of flat, pale stomachs and glistening belly rings. He would not think these thoughts. Not about her. No. He wouldn't, couldn't allow it. They sat there in silence, for once her annoying chatter restricted by the fact that the building itself was more interesting than anything she could have found to say. He basked in that silence, only breaking it when the waiter came to take first their drink, then their dinner order.

And then there was no more time for silence, because they had gone out that night for a purpose - a purpose he could not fulfill if they didn't speak to one another.

"I assume that Minister Tribley told you why we are doing this?"

She turned, green eyes fixzating on his face. There was something there, behind their happy green depths, that he couldn't quite place. Something hauntingly wonderful that pulled at the very strings of his heart. It was that same thing that drew him to her time and again, no matter how much she annoyed him on a daily basis. That insatiable -thing- that he couldn't place and couldn't get rid of, as disturbing as it may be.

"Uh huh. You're going to interview me about the Hellmouth, Buffy and all the crazy, wacky things we did while I lived there. Right?"

Well, he didn't know who Buffy was, but that sounded like the general gist of what he was there to do.

"Right. Now the sooner we get started the sooner --"

"We can get it over with?" She interjected, those sparkling eyes sad. "Is it that horrible to be around me, Percy? Do you wish for our time together to end so quickly?"

His mouth opened and closed, unprepared for such a direct question. "I --"

"So, it's true," she sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. When they opened again they were wet. "Go on with your question, Percy. Let's not prolong this torture indefinitely, shall we?"

Percy had never been so taken aback in his entire life. Here she was, the bane of his existence, the woman of both his nightmares and dreams, and she was almost crying because he didn't want to spend time with her. It was shocking, really; and he could think of no reason why she would want to spend time with him at all, unless it was to further make his life miserable. And why would missing out on that make her look so sad, so withdrawn?

He pulled the scroll of questions from the inner pocket of his robe, scanning down the list he had prepared earlier that day before leaving work. They were all very general, of course. Without any prior knowledge of what she had done or seen on the Hellmouth he had been writing blind trying to come up with what to write. He chose the most general one and licked his lips --

"Why are you sad?"

Where in the bloody hell had -that- come from? He glanced back down at the paper in his hand, a blush spreading over his cheeks. No, there it was, question number ten - 'What can you tell me about the Hellmouth?'. But that wasn't what he had said, was it? He had opened his mouth and said the last thing he had been thinking; and also the last thing that he had wanted to say outloud.

"Why am I --" She repeated slowly, shaking her head. "C'mon, Percy. Stop goofing around and ask the damn questions."

Now, he hadn't expected a heart to heart from her. They weren't friends, just coworkers. But he also hadn't expected this kind of blatant hostility. It only made him more curious about what was eating at her.

"I'm serious, Rosenberg. What's wrong? You were all happy one minute and the next --"

She raised one arched eyebrow at him. "I'm sitting here, in a wonderfully romantic restaurant for the first time in my life, with someone who hates me. What could possibly be wrong?"

"I don't hate you," he argued blindly. "I just --"

"Just -what-?" She inquired softly. "You're 'just' what? You hate me, Percy. That's okay. I can deal. I mean, it's not like it's the first time I've ever had someone hate me, you know. Plenty of people have. Just. . . you know, they usually have good reasons. Okay, not always good reasons. The baddies didn't need reasons at all. They're pretty indiscriminate haters, to be honest."

"I don't hate you," he repeated, shaking his head. Where was their food? Anything to fill the time with something other than talking. This was looking to be the first assignment in his entire time at the Ministry that he wouldn't be able to complete. She wanted to know why he didn't want to spend time with her. And he really wanted to know why -- "Why do you try so hard to annoy me?"

Her mouth snapped shut with a pop that he could hear, all the way across the table. Her green eyes pierced into him with uncanny accuracy. "Annoy you? You think that's what I'm always doing? Trying to annoy you?"

“What else could I possibly consider it to be?”

She rolled her eyes, shrugging. “Nothing, Percy, nothing. There’s absolutely nothing you should consider a woman trying to do when she makes the time to speak to you every day other than, you know, being annoying.”

He listened to her words, genuinely hearing that tone behind them, and recognized that, no, she hadn’t been trying to annoy him all those times when she had been chatting with him. Only one other woman, outside of his family, had ever tried to engage him in conversation – and that had been Penelope. But that was because –

Oh, Merlin.

Percy blushed, averting his eyes to gaze at the silverware on the table. She had been flirting with him.

And he had been an arse, plain and simple.

“Ah, you get it now, do you?” He heard her sigh. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you or anything.”

“I’m not embarrassed.” He hurried to assure her, risking a quick glance up. He wasn’t embarrassed, not really. It was just that – well, it wasn’t every day that a woman flirted with him. And a coworker at that.

One that he couldn’t stop staring at during the day.

He cleared his throat. “I’m just – shocked.”

“Really?” She drawled, tone dry. “I couldn’t tell. Look – I don’t want to let this spoil our working relationship. Just forget I said anything, okay?”

That was easier said than done, though. And he wasn’t entirely sure that he wanted to forget, not now that he knew. She was really quite spectacular to look at . . . and he guessed that he could admit that sometimes she could be fun to speak with. They had been able to have a few long, drawn out conversations during the rare occasions when he hadn’t been on the lookout for her to annoy him.

“Why me?”

“Why you?” She laughed. “Who –not- you? I mean – you’re smart, relatively successful. And cute. I’m not saying you’re Brad Pitt or anything, but you’re definitely pleasing to the eyes.”

He had absolutely no clue who Brad Pitt was, but that was of little consequence. She thought he was ‘pleasing to the eyes’.

Well, that answered the ‘why him’ part of the confusion. Now he just had to deal with the ‘what was he going to do about it’ part.

“Anyway. . .” Willow sighed, “Like I said – just forget about it.”

“But I don’t want to.” He blurted out, feeling the heat of a blush spread through him again.

“You. . . don’t?”

“No.” Percy shook his head. “I don’t. I think that. . . I could be quite happy about it. Maybe.”

Willow giggled. “Not sure yet?”

“No. Not yet.”

“That’s understandable. I appreciate the honesty.” The smile was a little faded around the edges, but it was still there.

“It’s just that – you see – I thought you were trying to annoy me. To drive me mad.”

“Sorry about that – I guess my flirting skills leave a lot to be desired.”

Or maybe his own receptiveness to that same flirting left a lot to be desired, he admitted silently. There had to have been signs.

“I mean – I wear all these tight clothes and stuff, trying to get your attention – and I think all I did was scare you away even more.”

She –

“You wore that stuff – for me?”

“Uh huh.” She grinned. “All for you.”

Percy swallowed.

Hard.

“The tight shirts? The little skirts?”

“Yep. All for you. It’s not like they’re all that comfortable, you know. Those shirts are darn drafty.” She blushed. “I’m really not the type to wear that stuff usually – but Buffy, my friend from back home, said I should give it a shot if I really wanted to get your attention. But that was months ago and you never seemed interested. And then I thought if I started dressing way different people would notice – and I don’t like people noticing me. Makes me nervous.”

He chose not to point out to her at that moment that the witches and wizards at the Ministry noticed her anyway for her complete lack of regard for the standard method of dress that they indulged in during business hours.

“You see – back home, I’m research girl. Total bookworm. I’m not Miss Flashy Dressing. Or Little Miss Show the Tummy. ‘Cuz, that’s so not me. Except for showing the tummy sometimes when I go to a club or something. But not to work. That’s just skanky. But, hey, wanted to make an impression.”

Did she need to breathe or was this babbling torrent going to go on indefinitely? Percy really wasn’t sure. All he knew was that, at that moment, she had never seemed more attractive. Not in the physical way, but in the completely mental way. She was shy, nervous – things he could identify with. A bookworm she had called herself, which led him to believe that she probably had a sizeable intellect that her mode of dress hid well.

“So, you see, I’m just a nerd in disguise.” She finished with a blush and a flourish of her hands, shrugging delicately.

“A rather cute nerd, I’d say,” he offered, joining her in the blushing when he realized what he had said.

“Really? You think?”

He nodded. “Beautiful, even.”

“Well. . . wow.” She giggled. “Back home I’m the plain one. Buffy’s the beautiful one. Or Cordelia. Not me. I’m like the butterfly that never quite came out of her cocoon.”

He found that hard to believe, having seen a good portion of her body because of her startling taste in clothes.

“Well, I hardly think you’re plain.”

“Thanks,” she whispered, grabbing her glass of water and taking a large gulp. “So – you think we could go out sometime? On a date?”

“Isn’t that what we’re on right now?”

She frowned, playfully. “Not really. I mean – you’re all the way over there and I’m all the way over here. I think on a date people get a little closer. ‘Course, I haven’t been on many dates before, so I could be of the wrong.”

He slid around the booth, stopping in the middle, and patted the space next to him. “Planning on joining me?”

Before he could even think of taking back his invitation, not that he wanted to, she was around the booth and sitting next to him. So close that he could smell the sweet scent of her skin. It wasn’t a perfume, at least he didn’t think it was. Just the delicate odor that was her body. He had smelled it before, of course. It was a turn on for him – just as much as seeing her half-dressed had always been back in the office. And it affected him in the same way, tightening places in his body that he was sure would explode at times just from the frustration of it all.

A soft groan escaped his lips, and he saw a smile tug at the corner of Willow’s mouth.

“Do you like this? Being close?” She murmured, eyes sparkling. “I’ve thought about being close to you before, you know. But you never seemed interested.”

“I think I was.” He sighed. “I just didn’t know it at the time.”

“Well,” she breathed, turning her head so that her lips were near his ear. “What are we going to do about that, Mister Weasley?”

Her hand was under the table, he realized, just as she set it on his knee. He nearly jumped out of his skin, shivering with delighted anticipation. She was so close to territory that hadn’t been explored in more time than he cared to admit. So very, very close.

“Well. . . we could. . .um. . .” He was stammering and there wasn’t a single thing he could do about it. She was beautiful, she was sitting right next to him, and she had her hand on his. . . thigh.

When had that moved?

“Here they come with our food,” she whispered into his ear. “But I’m suddenly not hungry. Want me to have them box it up? We can go back to my place and finish that interview.”

That was the best idea Percy had heard all night. He nodded and her hand squeezed gently at his thigh. If she kept this up, this subtle teasing, he would certainly explode from the anticipation. He had wanted this for so long, he realized now, picturing in his mind’s eye the way the curves of her body looked in all of those tight, tiny clothes – and then imagining what she would look like without them on her at all.

By the time he had composed himself enough to open his eyes again, the food was boxed up, the receipt signed to be delivered to the Ministry for payment – and they were ready to –

“You ready to go?” Green, sparkling eyes met his as her tongue slowly ran over her lips. “We have a lot to cover before we can get any rest tonight.”

Well, thank Merlin ‘rest’ was the last thing he had on his mind at that moment.

~*~*~

Minister Tribley felt a smile creep over his face as he unrolled the parchment a smoky gray owl had just dropped into his lap. A moment later another owl flew in, this one a white beauty that he recognized as belonging to Willow Rosenberg. He unrolled the second piece of parchment, laughing to himself.

It appeared that Fred and George Weasley had been right, after all.

“Janyce,” he called out, trying to muffle his laughter. “Please note that Willow and Percy are both out sick today – shuffle out their assignments, please.”

~*~*~

“Think they suspect anything? It’s not exactly. . . proper. . for two coworkers to go out and then not show up the next morning for work.”

Percy lifted his head from listening to the steady beat of Willow’s heart, ear to her bare skin, and gave her a slow smile.

“To hell with being ‘proper’. For once, I don’t think I care.”

She laughed, pushing him back down.

“Ya know, neither do I.”

~*~The End~*~