There were days when it didn't pay to get out of bed. WHO: Angelina Johnson and Percy Weasley. WHERE: The Ministry of Magic. WHEN: December 21, 1999. WHAT: Percy has lost a fight with ghost archivist. There may be Weasley pouting. And a complete lack of sympathy from his loving assistant COMPLETE
Percival Ignatious Weasley was in a rare snit. Color was high on his normally palid cheeks and blue fire was dancing in his eyes. As he stormed through the lower levels of the Ministry, scurrying messengers all but dove out of his way. When finally he reached the storage room where he and Angelina spent their time organizing and preserving ancient and modern records for addition to the newly revamp archives that were his pride and joy and purpose in life, he didn't even bother to stop the heavy door from slamming back into the wall like he normally did.
"That is it," he snarled wiping futilely at the ectoplasm coating him from head to toe. "I am calling in Bill or the fucking Bishop of Canterbury. That damned ghost is going to exorcised if I have to bring in a vaudun priestess or dance around sky-clad while chanting like an ignorant Muggle wiccan practioner." The door slammed closed behind pure on the power of agravated wandless magic.