Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to Harry Potter and characters/ideas related to it. I do own Melania and the other gods along with the plot. As well as Thanatos. Figuratively, to my dismay.

Elemental Sight

Chapter Two
The Black Family

"I never saw the point in being formal. Perhaps it was because I just like a lot of change. Or maybe, when we were conceived, my dear twin got all the formal-loving genes, leaving me free to just waltz around, fancy-free. Well, I admit that it's a lot better for the soul. As well as for the body! All that stress takes a toll over time, you know. And who would know that little fact better than me?"
-Thanatos (just call me 'Nat', will you?)

As the footsteps grew near, Nat noticed a distinct change in the demeanor of the house-elf before him. At first, the house-elf was merely condescending and quite a bit on the dull side. Now, though, it was practically cringing in fear, particularly at the sound of a...banshee? Was it even human? It didn't sound as it was. But it was definitely the sound of the screeching of some disagreeable woman. He had enough experience with women, both mortal and immortal, to know that.

Indeed, it was the woman who came first and Nat decided immediately that she wasn't the person that Daggert the house-elf had called. For one thing, she didn't look like a 'Julius' at all. She burst into the room like a warship wrapped in taffeta. Bright purple taffeta, nearly shocking magenta, that was a distinct eyesore. She looked as she was once somewhat pretty in her youth, but it was easy to see that it was all in the past. Her figure had turned stout and thick, her face was lined and hard, and no amount of plaster-like make-up could conceal that. Or that her complexion was flushed, probably because of the straining corset. Those eyes seeming to slowly kill everything in their black gaze. Black hair was stuffed under an old-fashioned powdered wig, so large that Nat was belatedly surprised that she had come through the room to begin with. As soon as she had come in, she smacked the magical servant over its head with the fan clutched tightly in her fatty fist.

Her faced twisted as she screeched at the elf, Nat slightly fascinated (by the sheer horrific nature) of the way her face contorted, the penciled-on beauty mark moving from her cheek to chin in a matter of seconds. Indeed, he found himself just staring at it. Later, when Moros commented on this strange...feature, he would claim it was like watching a car crash. Or watching Deimos and Phobos work.

Not that there was much of a difference between the two instances in the first place, really.

"What nonsense are you blabbering on about, Daggert?!" she shrieked, and Nat could swear that he could see the brilliant crystal prominently in a nearby cabinet shaking from the sheer power of her voice. "I told you that you were not to bother me during my tea time!" He winced as the ringing soprano vibrated in his ears. By the grace of the Universe, was this woman some kind of malevolent opera singer sent to rid all of mankind with her mere voice? Or maybe she was a descendent of Harpies?

Now there was a disturbing thought. His bloodline mixing with that of Harpies. Or even worse, malevolent evil opera singers.

The woman then turned wrathful eyes to him, quickly noting his state of dress and dismissing him as a commoner. Which he found somewhat insulting. He was a god, for...God's sake! And a rather spiffy dresser he'd like to add. "Who are you?" she demanded, and he could see her fat fingers wrapping even more tightly around the handle of that fan. "Why have you let a disgusting muggle in here?!"

"But Mistress Victoria, he knocked on the door! Daggert did not know!" the elf wailed, shielding its head from more abuse. "He claims he is Black, mistress. Says he is Nathaniel Black, that he said. Knew Daggert's name and the family tree!"

"'Fraid he's right there," Nat put in, adding some saccharine sweetness to his tone just to annoy her. That and treating the situation with utter aplomb. He knew - from experience - that tending to really frustrate anyone, particularly those with short fuses. And if this woman was a bomb of any kind, Nat would wager that she had a fuse barely longer than a quarter of an inch. Indeed, the Mistress Victoria seemed to quite literally swell in front of Nat's eyes. "And it isn't so much as 'claiming' that I am...more like I actually am."

"You?!" Mistress Victoria spat...causing Nat to wipe his face with a handy handkerchief from his pocket. "You're probably some low-class muggleborn trying to get some of the inheritance! Or some bastard son from a less fortunate cousin or squib-" She went on and on about who else he 'could' be, but Nat sort of tuned that out. One ear, out the other really. He had plenty of experience getting yelled at to begin with anyway. Though it was a puzzling thought - how could there be squibs in his bloodline? That didn't make any sense at all. If he had a magical bloodline, it would stay that way. Just like how if his wife had been muggle, every one of his descendants would have been muggle.

My, this was one strange...and rather ignorant woman.

Blinking demurely as he noticed she had...for lack of a better word, finished (it looked more as if she had just run out of breath), he smiled and swept past her into the adjoining dining room. Several pairs of eyes glanced up to look at him, most of them bored and lazy. One look around the room and he could see that there was kind of trend going on. After the second look, they finally realized exactly who was in the room with them, some of them spilling their tea or choking on cookies.

"Hello all," he greeted blithely, though rather put off at the cold reception. Good, he had shocked them. Family or not, he had made a reputation on being...alarming. In both the good and pleasant as well as the frightening sense. The former one being the one who got more of a reaction.

Striding past the gaping aristocrats - what clothes they were wearing! - he took a seat at the empty chair at the head of the table. It was his rightful place, after all. Flashing an amused grin, he leant back and strummed his fingers on the elaborately carved wooden armrests. But didn't these people know the meaning of comfort?! They were all sitting around the table, prim and proper as can be, in petticoats and formal suits. And those robes! Not to mention that even with the plush cushioning, he felt like he was sitting on a rock. Perhaps he could sort his wayward descendants out in some way.

Silence reigned for a full ten minutes before he got frustrated.

"So!" he exclaimed. "What is going on in all of your lives? I am sorry to admit that I have been extremely busy..." That was a lie. "So much so that I have not been watching you all as closely as I should have. Well?"

The woman on two seats to his left - a weak looking thing - made a small noise, like that of an animal being trod upon. The man next to her, however, saved what dignity he had (left) and scowled in such a way that reminded him almost painfully of a cross between his father and his aunt Hecate. Which was never a good combination, Nat could assure you of that. The resemblance was still there, just that the other man was older. The dark hair was grown long and Nat could see certain features of his own face in the other's. But he did not have the blue eyes that were characteristic to his family, nor did they have the same...somewhat charismatic aura. And the lack of good taste in clothing...who in their right mind wore ruffles?

Now that he thought about it...he couldn't see anyone here with blue eyes like his own...

"Who do you think you are, you little whelp," the man growled.

"I happen to be Nathaniel Black," Nat reiterated calmly. Honestly, couldn't these people take a hint? "Patriarch of the Black family. And you are? One of my descendants I know, but names? Never been too much of my strong point."

The man sniffed in a such a snobbish manner that it repulsed Nat. Of course, he offered a handkerchief to whoever it was (it was just plain polite), but it was quickly thrown aside with what could adequately be called revulsion. Now really, was that necessary? No. But he was liking this visit less and less...

"I happen to be Julius Black," the man intoned pompously, to which Nat rolled his eyes. "And I am the patriarch of this family, not you. You're probably some low-down gold-digging muggleborn." What was with the whole thing against muggleborns? He certainly didn't expect that to ingrain itself into the psyche of his descendants. Tolerance was one of the tenets of the family rules!

And besides...it was largely his fault that there was such a low wizarding population to begin with. The Black Plague (the irony of the name?) and all.

"No, you're wrong," Nat returned, pouting. "I am."

"No, I am."

"No, I am."

"No, I am."

"No, I am."

"NO, I AM!"

"NO, YOU'RE NOT!"

"NO, I'M NOT!...HOLD IT! I AM!"

Smirking innocently, Nat asked, "You're what?"

...Six hours later, Nat was sitting in the parlor room of 12 Grimmauld Place shaking with absolute and complete fury. And, being a god, this anger tends to be not only extremely palpable, but also extremely dangerous. This fact made more so by the fact that this wasn't any other god that was angry, this was Death.

Generally, you wouldn't want to piss Death off. It just wasn't smart. Not to mention, it would have to be something of the most annoying and frustrating thing to get him angry. Thanatos was one of the most laid-back and lenient of the gods when it came to human trifles. Probably because they would end up seeing him or one of his Reapers anyway.

...Seriously. This was not a good thing.

The other members of the Black family seemed to sense this as well. Julius was trying to put up a good front, as was the estimable Victoria, but the rest had a pretty good idea that only trouble was going to come of this. In fact, many of them had already fled the room in fright. To the eyes of any bystander, it was clear who was going to come up as the winner in this. And it wasn't going to be the mortals in the room, that was for certain.

He felt that he had pretty good reasons for being upset. Not only did his descendants have a pureblood-complex the size of Moros' sarcasm (and that was pretty big), they were petty, elitist ungrateful bastards! Not in the literary sense, but in the derogatory one! They had supported four Dark Lords while he was gone, murdered a number of muggles for fun, collected dangerous artifacts that only had uses of the malicious and evil kind. They treated him like garbage just because he shows up in muggle clothing, but he could imagine how they treated the other wizards and witches around. It seemed to him that the whole lot of them had a river of maliciousness and sadism running through them wider than even the Styx! All their money, based primarily on an enchantment on the family accounts made by himself hundreds of years before to support them while he was gone, was saved in a miserly fashion and instead of being used for more practical purposes, they were spent on lavish and useless items. It was a complete and utter outrage! He had not provided that spell for those purposes at all!

This fascination with money had also caused conflict within the family itself. Why, he just found another relative ensconced in a bed and locked in his room, on...death's door. Ignacius Black, the elderly and frail man rasped out when Nat found him, and he had asked for some degree of mercy for the crimes he had done before he died. Apparently, this was Julius' father. Ignatius recognized him to some degree - at least he was regarded as a Black - but the man was confused between seeing him as both Death and some lost forgotten son also by the name of Nathaniel. For that latter situation, Nat had a strong feeling that Julius had a hand in that disappearance.

And he wasn't going to even start on the increased life expectancy spell he had cast all those years ago either!

"You have ten seconds," Nat intoned, rage tinging every word with a sinister darkness. He sat in the chair in the manner of a wrathful lord, his blue eyes hard and merciless. His body was taut with tension and repressed anger, like a growling panther ready to pounce on its prey and rip its throat out. The drumming sound of his fingers against the hard wood as he waited was loud in the thick silence of the room, expression both expentant and furious. This was the Death most were familiar with - dark, forbidding, and ruthless.

"Listen here-" Julius started.

"One," Nat interrupted.

Victoria swelled in front of him again, "You have no right-"

"NINE!"

At the shout of his voice, they seemed to diminish in size before him, not just in general physical terms but in the case of character as well. With each and every passing moment, Nat could barely contain himself from just lashing out. It was an absolute insult to be related to these...these...creatures! They had no base sense of morals or kindness in them. Just looking at them now, cowering in fear at the mere sight of him, he could see that there was no sliver of remorse for their actions. Not like his children, who he made sure to raise well while he was present on Earth. Not like Ignacius, who though admitted his own transgressions, felt regret towards what he had done. But not these two. Not those who were waiting just outside the door with bated breath, some of them actually hoping Julius and Victoria wouldn't survive their encounter with the mysterious relative claiming to be their ancestor.

They were all just selfish beasts.

"Ten," he whispered finally, and neither Julius and Victoria spoke a word. Their mouths were open, but no words came out. He could see Julius' black eyes alive with panic, Victoria's 'beauty mark' on the move again as she struggled to find some speech to justify their actions, but this time Nat was not amused. The grandfather clock in the corner chimed ten times, as if reiterating Nat's small time period. But beyond the ringing, the crackling of the parlor fire, and Nat's still drumming fingertips, there was just silence.

Casting a contemptous glare, Nat rose from his seat, noting that Julius and Victoria backed away even more than they already had. A swift motion of his left hand a black cloak suddenly appeared, which he wrapped around himself. With quick and steady strides, he made his way to the exit, the door swinging violently open as he drew nearer, the curious faces of the remaining members of the Black family scattering at the mere sight of him. Nat continued past them until he was at the front door, casting a terrible look upon them all.

"You - all of you - are not my descendants. You are not related in any way at all to me, nor will your children or your children's children," he pronounced in a low, feral growl. His blue eyes were shadowed over. Dramatically turning on his heel, he left the house which shut with a slam behind him. The Black family stood in mixed shock and horror, though not knowing why they suddenly felt so terrified.

Passing the gate to the main street, he turned around again to look back at the house his former relatives lived in, sparing it none of the dislike present in his eyes. This time, Thanatos lifted his right arm and stretched it out before him, hand and palm open, his fingers spread like a star. He concentrated...and for a moment, it seemed as if his hand had vanished into a combination of air and darkness. The residence before him shook forcefully, before half of it - the part that none of his family were in at the moment - collapsed to the ground. The plants and lawn quickly turned yellow, then to an utterly dead brown.

Once his hand had reappeared, Thanatos turned his back on 12 Grimmauld Place and the Black family, his footsteps striking the pavement loudly in the still night. In essence, he had broken all ties with his descendants here on Earth. No more luck, no more success, no more money, no more youth. They would have to work for it all now, like all mortals. And they would soon realize just how much they depended on him.

Inside the chaos that was now 12 Grimmauld Place, there was even more panic. Every one seemed to have grown older in mere moments. Victoria's already aged face looked ten years older. And Julius' face was now lined with the lines from continued scowling and frowning, the luxurious black hair he had mere minutes before now completely snow white.