Harry Potter and the Witch Hunter of Oxford Cross

Harry swore loudly as his nosebleed hex dissipated harmlessly into the haze of sage smoke.

"You won't get away from me, you snotty little witch."

The smoke began to waft away in soft curls as a man in a beige Mackintosh approached him coolly. The man struck a match across his gaunt scruffy cheeks and lit a cigarette.

"Expelliarmus!" Harry shouted. Something heavy and metal clattered to the floor and made a loud twanging sound. Ice seemed to pulse from his shoulder as Harry blindly grabbed toward what seemed to be a crossbow bolt jutting from his left arm.

"If you broke my crossbow, I'll flay you alive you little bugger," cried a gruff voice.

Harry sank to the ground blood running in a steady stream from his arm to the alley floor.

"Inflagrate," roared Harry desperately.

The man's coat began smoking, as he removed it and threw it over Harry in one graceful motion. The white hot coat singed his hair and began to burn through his jumper. Harry screamed in pain as he shrugged off the coat.

He raised his wand once more, and heard a snap, not unlike breaking a celery stalk in two, as a hobnailed boot connected with, and consequently broke, his wrist. The holly wand fell to the floor with a mundane tap. Screaming in agony and holding his wrist, he looked up to examine his attacker with tear laden eyes.

John Constantine looked down on him, still dragging greedily from his cigarette.

"Thought you could get away after blowing up your auntie, didja' Potter?"

"But... I... c-couldn't..." The words escaped with an edge of terror. Surely, they wouldn't send an auror to capture Harry for accidentally blowing up his aunt?

Constantine pulled a worn leather pouch from his pocket and undid the drawstring. As he pulled out a handful of what looked like ashes he inhaled deeply on his cigarette and blew smoke into the boy's lightning-scarred face.

"These ashes are all that remains of very powerful minion of the dark lord-"

"Voldemort!" Harry said in surprise.

"Vol- what? No you little shit, Satan. Dark lord of the nine hells? Lucifer the Morningstar? First among the fallen? Nevermind." Constantine said with mild frustration, "These ashes were once the body of Mordrian, arch-duke of the seventh circle. They," he said as he drew them in a circle over Harry's battered supine body, "will prevent you from escaping through means of sorcery, witchcraft, or powers of the weirding."

Harry was flabbergasted. Who was this man, and why was he keeping him here?

"As you have proven yourself to be a danger to the human population, you must be eliminated." Constantine intoned.

"But, why me? Why not Voldemort!"

"Should I even ask?"

"He's the most dangerous dark wizard of all time! I'm just a kid."

"Child or no, you are dangerous, easily apprehended, and, this might be the more important part, too pathetic to be working alone." Constantine punctuated this last statement by closing the circle and muttering something in what Harry thought must be latin. "There now, cozy? Let's just wait here for your mates. Ought to be here any second."