Disclaimer: Any characters you recognize from the Harry Potter or any other franchise are not mine and belong to their respective owners.

Prologue: Death and Business as Usual

It was a pleasant, if somewhat chilly night in the small town of Cowley, just outside of Oxford. The moon was full, and seemed to any random observer to be shining unusually brightly, particularly on one house in particular. This one house that appeared to be enjoying more than its share of lunar rays happened to be the happy home of Miles and Cheryl Granger, as well as their daughter Hermione. Their humble little home was surrounded by a garden of beautiful flowers, all of which had until a few seconds ago had been blowing gently in the breeze. But now the breeze was gone, the air was still. The surrounding area was completely silent. Something terrible was about to happen.

Inside the house, Miles and Cheryl were enjoying a nice after-dinner conversation in their bookshelf lined parlor. The books lining the shelf were all treasured possessions of their only daughter Hermione, who was also the topic of her parent's discussion. "I know that her world is at war right now," her father said in a deep baritone, "but I don't see why that means we should change our plans and tell her about that just yet."

"This may be our last chance to tell her Miles," Cheryl replied in a soothing yet firm soprano voice, "she may not survive this war. Her friend Harry is deeply involved in it and you know how loyal she is to him. Besides, it's in her blood, from my family. We're drawn to this kind of thing, whether we like it or not. She needs to know the truth about my family, her uncle John, and her cousin Jason. We have to tell her."

Miles pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed heavily. "Very well," he said, "we will tell her when she returns for this wedding she's attending." His features softened as his wife smiled at his agreement. "I just hope she will forgive us for keeping this from her. From both of them."

Before either of them could say another word, they both heard a noise coming from their front garden. Miles stood up to check it out, but then he was suddenly hit full in the face with an explosion coming from the front of their house. It was the last thing he saw and felt, and the explosion launched a large piece of timber directly into his skull, killing him instantly. His wife Cheryl only had a second to realize this, before death came to her as well, in the form of a bright green light and a cry of "Avada Kedavra!"

The house is on fire, but no one is left living in to do anything about it. All the books, and the furniture, all the memories that it held are consumed by flames, along with the bodies of the late Grangers. The smoke above the house twists and changes itself into the form of a skull with a snake slithering through it. Something terrible has happened here.

In a few hours in the town of Ottery St. Catchpole, Hermione Granger will awaken to the news that her parents are dead, and her home is gone. She will believe that she is now completely without family, that she is the only one so deeply affected by her parent's death. But this is not entirely accurate.

In a small, dirty flat in the cheap side of London a tall blonde haired man clad in a white buttoned up shirt, grey slacks, and a tan trench coat sat on the window sill reading the newspaper. The front page shows a picture of the Granger's house on fire, with the headline Tragic Fire Claims 2 in Cowley. The man throws down the paper and stands, and then he begins to pace the room, muttering to himself. "Shit, shit, shit. I never thought this would all fall to me. What the fuck am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to handle this? SHIT!"

He left the room and headed to the flats only bedroom, which he entered quietly. The room contained only one item of furniture, a rickety old bed which was occupied by a young man, apparently in his mid to late teens. A pair of jeans hung over the foot of the bed, right next to a trench coat that was almost identical to the one the man was wearing. The man walked over and kicked the side of the bed, causing it to collapse and fall to the floor. "Jason, Jason wake the hell up!" He said, prodding the sleeping teen with his foot

The teen stirred and woke grumbling, "Bloody cheep bed, bloody hell Uncle John." Jason pulled on his jeans and the trench coat, and then turned to look at his so called uncle, "What's up?"

"We have to go, got a job I need to finish, something I should have done ages ago." John told the teen, lighting up a cigarette. The two of them left the flat and exited the building, and John hailed a taxi. "Ottery St. Catchpole" he instructed the cabbie, as he dropped a large wad of pound notes into the cabbies lap.

John didn't speak to his nephew as the cab began to make its way out of London. Inside he was fuming about what he had to do and the fact that it, like everything else, had been dropped in his lap. But he didn't have any choice, he had to do this and he had to do it now, it fell to him to tell his nephew the truth. This just further proved to him that he had pissed off the powers that be a little too often, but that's just a part of who he was. After all he was John Constantine.

Authors note: this is a bit of a rough start, but it's pretty good considering I've spent the past two days sick in bed.

As I stated earlier I don't claim to won any of the Harry Potter characters, and I also don't claim to own John Constantine. JK Rowling and DC comics own those respective properties.