DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter or Buffy the Vampire Slayer or any characters used in this story.

“It was a dirty job, but somebody had to do it.”

No. The line is crossed off the napkin.

Too simple, too direct.

How about, “It was a dirty job, but it was necessary.”

No. Again, too direct. This line is too scratched off.

“It was a perilous and treacherous job, marked by difficulty and strife, essential to the world.”

No way. I mean, really. I of all people know the importance of not sounding pretentious. Even on napkins. If the napkin should be kept by someone, and the phrasing on it is later tracked through handwriting analysis to me, then future researchers could presume me pretentious. It was a distasteful thought.

“It was a gritty occupation, heralded by astounding amounts of bad tea, and no notice from men of notice.”

Ah. Now that’s like it. Our writer looks down and leaves the line in place. Men of notice, sanctimonious bastards though they are… He then takes out a plain, yet elegant leather-bound journal and inscribes the line. He sips at his tea and grimaces. He tilts the glass and the ice clinks. He still can’t get over the fact that in the colonies, when you say tea, they serve it cold by default. Shocking, really. American.

He looks up and his eyes widen. There is a man in a dress in the parking lot. In his experience, that means trouble. That means danger. That means a job for… Wesley Wyndham-Price, ROGUE demon hunter. He puts down his pen. He needs to work on his adjectives, its almost as if he’s hunting rogue demons. By definition, wouldn’t those be the ones that need to be left alone? Rogue from evil? Or would that still mean evil but maybe selfless evil. He shivered. That’d be terrifying, truly selfless evil. But at least it wouldn’t be in a dress.

The man in the dress appears to be walking straight into the diner. He glares at the waitress through a mop of greasy dark hair. Wesley looks at his discouragingly. It’s bad enough that the tea is served cold, but its extreme even for Americans to be wearing dresses and not washing their hair.

“I would like to speak with you.” The voice is cultured, precise, English. Wesley’s eyes open. A fellow Englishman in a dress.

“I don’t swing that way.” Men, in his experience, don’t wear dresses. Let alone flouncy out-of-style black ones. Dear lord, he spent too much time around the slayers if he’s evaluating fashion. Yet another thing to blame them for. Like his career.

“I beg your pardon. Are you or are you not Wesley Wyndham-Price?” The man sneers down at him. “I believe you’re a rogue demon hunter?”

Wesley’s eyes open. So few know that. In fact, he can’t think of any. Unless… yes, the post would have reached the Council by now. Obviously the business cards with the tasteful demon-killing motif had impressed Travers enough for him to pass on his name.

“Yes, I am.” Wesley took a drink of tea and scowled. “Waitress, is it at all possible for me to get tea hot?” The waitress waved agreement from across the room. “Thank goodness, I truly dislike cold tea. Terribly uncivilized, and mainly made from leaves harvested in South America, not India like proper tea spawned by British expansionism.” Wesley carefully placed the glass of tea near the two empty glasses next to it and considered the man in the dress more seriously. “What can I do for you?”

Severus Snape considered the muggle before him. “I’m looking for a hunter. A dangerous man. A force to be reckoned with. Somehow I don’t think you’re him.” He took a step back. “Obviously my source was mistaken.”

Wesley stood. “I am so such a man. I have a motorcycle and everything.”

“Really…”

“My journal is not only leather but has STUDS on the corners. Behold.”

Snape made an uncommitted noise.

“Oh good, the tea.” Wesley smiled at the waitress and proceeded to pour cream and sugar into the tea. He made a happy, contented smile and took a sip. Terrible, but what did you expect from bagged? At least it wasn’t some frothy ginseng raspberry crap. “It was rather difficult finding studs on a leather journal with archival acid-free paper. I had to have them added later.” He paused. “Because I’m a rebel, you see.”

“I’m looking for a man to take on a terrible task for my employer.” Snape drew up a chair and looked deep into Wesley’s eyes. “It is truly perilous and overflowing with danger. It is beyond perilous.”

Wesley perked up. This was what he was looking for. What he had sought. A chance to prove to the Council that his appointment to the position of watcher in Sunnydale hadn’t been a mistake. A chance to redeem himself before his disappointed parents. A chance to make it all right. A chance to do right for the world. To be a hero.

“I have been seeking such a task.” He straightened and put down his tea. “It’s what we do, we ROGUE demon hunters. We take the roads that others fear to walk, and we drive them.”

“Indeed.”

“On motorcycles.”

“Really.”

“In leather.”

“How enlightening.”

“Though sometimes we do wear less expensive fabrics if the situation demands.”

“I see.” Snape sat back in his chair. “So nothing I say will frighten you?”

“Nothing. I have faced a full-size demon.” Wesley had faced the mayor. Perhaps been facing was a better phrasing?

“I come from a world very different from your own. A world of magic. A world beset by dark forces. There is a task that needs to be done, no matter how distasteful or terrifying it can be. It is hard, it is dangerous, and several men have perished or been destroyed by it.” Snape considered the muggle before him. The very notion of hiring the man was absurd.

Wesley sat back in his chair. “There is a dark force?”

“Yes.”

“And you wish me to face it?”

“No.”

Wesley paused. “Then why are you here?”

“I’m here to offer you a job, as Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts.” Snape smiled inwardly. This one didn’t look likely to last a year. Maybe he could finally get transferred into the job he truly wanted mid-term.

Wesley swallowed. He hadn't counted on something as dangerous as teaching.