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 Three
A Promise

If there's one thing I absolutely hate, it's begging. Yes, begging. It annoys me half to…death. No, that pun was not intended! But it's true. I attribute it to the fact that nearly everyone begs to me at some time in his or her lives…or afterlives. Whatever. If it's the person or the loved ones or whatever, they always do! 'Why did you take –insert name- from me?' 'Bring –so and so- back to me!' 'Kill this person!' Bloody annoying, to have all these mortals petitioning me to do this and do that. There's a plan, you know! You don't like it? Tough. Live with it. My father on my back is enough, thank you very much!For the record, I've made earplugs mandatory equipment for my Reapers.
-Thanatos (Really want to know all of my names? There are a lot of them. Or better yet, all my titles?)

Leith Maitland had seen a great many things in his lifetime.

No, that would be incorrect. Afterlifetime, if there was such a term, would be much more accurate.

Either way, the seasoned Englishman had seen a lot. No one would think that by just looking at his rather ordinary features. He was as thin as a rail, sinewy and lean, unlike most of the rather portly and bloated customers he was usually privy to. One of those guys who had the look of friendliness and honesty, he was the kind of man that anyone could feel that they could talk to easily. It made his job a lot easier.

He had to admit that many of his circumstances made his job a lot easier.

It came with the territory with being a Reaper, a collector of souls. There were many kinds of Reapers, of course. If there weren't some kind of order to it all, then the system wouldn't work. Sure, he knew that it was ironic that he was equating order of all things to the god of death. But it was true, there was a system, and it was essential for the smooth running of ever. He wasn't the usual kind, like his good friends Annie Kentworth and Ptolemy Shadis, who wandered the Earth and actually brought the souls to through Lethe to Annuvin. Sure, he had done it before, several times, but that really wasn't his profession.

Leith Maitland was a Catharsis Reaper, one who gave final peace. Those about to go confessed to him whatever they wanted to say before they died (it didn't have to be right before death, but anything at all and he would hear it), he sometimes made arrangements pertaining to any information that should be let out, and then stood back to let the Ferryman Reapers do their work. As most people found their peace in either bars or hospitals, and he disliked the antiseptic feel of hospitals, here he was.

He found the work enjoyable. It wasn't all that different from when he was an innkeeper during the what they know called the Middle Ages, though people had less of an inclination to knock down the good old ale nowadays. But he enjoyed it. And it gave him a bit of a boost when it came to his status on the job. After all, this wasn't exactly the greatest real estate in London. It was smoky, dirty, and more often than not filled with the shadiest characters. Which suited him fine – he got the most information out of these guys, who wandered through the murky underworld of the city.

The sandy-haired man absently cleaned the mugs with a rag in a practiced manner, brown eyes looking over at the man across from him with curiosity and a certain level of disbelief.

For sitting right in front of him, absently scowling while sipping one of his beers, was one very important person. Of course, this person was given the ultimate in service. His meal was perfectly made and Maitland could guarantee that it was probably the best he had ever cooked. The beer was one of his best, brewed to absolute flawlessness, having just the right amount of flavor and froth. This man was given everything for free and would get everything refilled for free. Because, really, no one denied this particular man. Or rather, this particular more-than-a-man.

His name was – for the moment – Nathaniel Sebastian Black. To all others, he looked like a pale-skinned young man with messy black hair that curled at the nape of his neck and at the ears, who seemed on normal occasions to have a mischievous and even somewhat wicked air in his mannerisms. His clothes were more expensive than what were usually seen around here, but for one of the first times in the bar's history, no one seemed to mind. This was someone whom the shady and suspicious characters felt an affinity with, someone that they knew and couldn't harm and wouldn't dare cheat. Which was true in many ways.

Leith Maitland, barkeep and Reaper, knew him simply as 'Boss'.

His true name was Thanatos. Most of the world knew him simply as 'Death'.

And, something almost completely foreign to Maitland's experience, the Boss was not happy. No, the Boss was upset Not even that. Furious. There were only a few times that he had seen the Boss in such a state (to this extent) and that was several hundred years ago, when his sister Melania's husband had suffered one of the worst tragedies that any soul had undergone since the Harbingers' Verdict. It was always easy to tell. Thanatos was never in such a sour mood. He was usually always cheerful, eager to talk and laugh. Not scowling at his plate and picking at his food.

Nope. The usual good mood Boss would be devouring whatever was in front of him.

"Sir?" Maitland asked, somewhat cautiously. No one knew what an angry Thanatos running around on Earth could do. All that could be promised would be a lot of damage and a lot of souls making the journey to Annuvin. The last time there had been a truly angry Boss wandering about the French Revolution erupted. There was a reason why no one got him angry around on the mortal plain. "If I may ask, your Lordship, what is the matter?"

"I met my descendants," the Boss answered bitterly.

"And?"

"They're the most disagreeable lot I ever had the misfortune of meeting!" he spat. "You wouldn't believe it if you met them, Leith!" He slammed his hand down on the counter, sending a ripple of power that shattered several of the other patrons' glasses. Thanatos didn't seem to notice that he was attracting a great deal of attention by that little show. A potted fern plant browned and withered before his eyes, the once living fronds dropping to touch the chestnut grain of the counter.

The bartender winced visibly – gods could be…very difficult. Understatement, but true. Even muggles could feel a god's anger. Sure, they wouldn't understand what it was, but they knew enough that it was dangerous and to be on their toes.

Nat ran a harried hand through his black hair, his features turning dark with just the mere memory of the visit. This did not do anything to calm the already nervous bar room. "They have all turned out to be a bunch of priggish, uptight snobs! I'm ashamed of actually starting the line and contributing to their gene pool!" Covering his eyes with a hand, tired and ultimately disappointed, he proclaimed, "It's unbelievable." Waving his other hand absently, he then added, "You'll have to meet them for yourself to believe it, Leith. I had trouble believing it and I'm as crazy as they come!"

Maitland tried to put on a reassuring smile, though he was struggling to hide the worried frown that was threatening to show. "I'm sure they aren't all that bad, Boss. All families have their oddities. My Great-aunt Valentine kept a pig around the house as a pet. Named it 'Anthony' of all things. And my father's family happened to be executioners that had a great love for their job." He laughed tightly. "Don't worry too much about it, Boss."

"Worried? I'm not worried," Nat waved off. "Royally angry, but not worried. Besides, if that Anthony had been a pet in that household, I hold no illusions that he'd have his own room and bed, take regular baths, and eat truffles all day long. And his name would probably be changed to Anthony Patriarchus Gregorian something-or-other." Maitland opened his mouth to disagree, but Nat silenced him with a look that said all to clearly that it would probably be true. "I'm not joking, old friend."

"I feel bad for you," Maitland sympathized. Ouch. That had to be a bad thing to discover. He himself had a noble cousin back when he was alive. And he would have to agree with the Boss' sentiment – they all were just noble pains in the arses. There was a reason why even to this day he would never put up with some snooty customer who began listing all the wines he had tried and how all of those were better than Maitland's own stock. There had been a few that had come in over the years. Maitland largely trusted in his regulars to take care of the problem – it was funny and more often than not the rich guy got thrown into a puddle of mud. Good fun. "But what are you going to do about them?" A pause. "Excuse me for being bold, but let me rephrase. What did you do?"

"Disowned them," the god replied, disgust lacing each word.

"You mean…"

"Yes. I took away the whole package. The wealth, the power, the youth, the success, and more – I undid every single spell I had cast on my own children all those years ago with just a few simple words. As of this day forward, I have no family." The dark-haired god sighed softly. "I feel awful about it, considering they're the children of my children…do you ever recall Alexander acting like that? Or Cassius? Or Teresa?" A small pang of pain hit each time he mentioned the name of each one of his children.

It was the hardest part of being immortal – watching those that you love grow old and die while you remained young and eternal.

Another sigh was released and Nat took a sip of his alcohol. "Maybe it's better off this way. Because of the denunciation, they're not smearing my name anymore." Another sip. "First, the youth and then the money. By the end of the year, if they don't get their act together, they would have about the same amount of wealth as their wizarding contemporaries, not ruling over them as kings of gold Galleons and silver Sickles any more." A wry smirk formed on his lips. "Maybe I should just stick around – just to see how they would cope."

"Boss, are you really alright?"

"Why do you ask?"

"No offense intended, but you sounded like Lord Moros."

In a gesture that made Maitland laugh (he really couldn't help it), Nat spat out his drink in shock. His dignity lost, he couldn't hide the flush of embarrassment that was forming on his face. Which made Maitland chortle even more. Everyone knew that Thanatos disliked his older brother, the god of cunning. Well, not only cunning but also doom. Moros had a manipulative and slightly sadistic streak a galaxy wide. 'Doom' became implied – or, as Thanatos himself had often claimed, embodied by him.

While they were laughing at this (or at least Maitland was), the door to the bar opened. The annoyed and angry murmur that his regulars let out once they saw the customer alerted him that whoever came in wasn't welcome. Which usually meant trouble. When he looked towards the entrance, he started in slight surprise.

Now, here was a shock.

Women didn't come around often – especially women of her type and status. Age as well, this one was young. She wore dark green cloak over a cobalt blue dress. One with a lot of petticoats. The woman herself had long black hair and intense blue eyes with tanned skin and a sort of strength that was unfashionable for the upper class women of the time. A red colored fan was held in her silk-gloved hands. His eyes narrowed, he began to notice exactly why she looked familiar – she had a faint resemblance to both Artemis and Melania. She must be one of the Boss' former descendants. Whoever she was, she looked around the room until her eyes alighted upon the Boss sitting at the counter. She smiled grimly and sauntered haughtily up to the bar, her skirt hoops swaying. And knocking the occasional glass – or person – to the floor as she did.

Maitland had to admit, that if this was a prime example of present-day Black, then the Boss was justified in his actions. He winced as the girl cast one of the less criminally inclined customers a scathing look, which caused the man to reach for the knife in his greasy coat. The bartender caught the man's attention and motioned to the door. The man, humbled but still offended, stopped and returned to his meal. The other patrons, upon seeing this…and Maitland's own annoyance at the newcomer, went back to their business.

That business also involved keeping an eye on the girl.

"Boss…company."

"I should have known one of them would try. Damn. I was hoping for a grovel-free day. I'll handle this, Leith. Just make sure that no one attempts to kill her. I don't want to spend more time with her than necessary." When the girl had finally reached them (not without difficulty) and made to tap Thanatos imperiously on the shoulder, he stopped her with a strong hand, not even turning in his seat. "What do you want? I came here to have a good meal, have a good drink, have a good conversation, and deplore over the degeneracy of my former family which you are part of. Now I think you should explain the reason – quickly, mind you, since I lack a great deal of patience – as to why you've decided to be discourteous and interrupt my evening's plans."

The girl gaped like a fish for a moment before recovering, her mouth pressed into a dour and annoyed line. "I happen to be Abigail Juliana Elizabeth Black-"

"That's nice. Now, if that's all you have to tell me, please go. Interruptions and introductions are only acceptable if one party finds the other somewhat friendly – at the least, tolerable. I don't believe we've satisfied those said cases."

She sniffed prissily. "I'm surprised some poor money-grubbing bastard like yourself managed to get inside the house, much less scare the rest so much." Maitland raised a skeptical eyebrow. Guess the Boss didn't exactly say how he was able to drop by after all these years. The next thought? The girl is cursing Death. It's a good thing the Boss is used it – any other god would have…well, smited her by now. "Do you know how stupid your strategy was? Pretending to be Nathaniel Black the First? He died centuries ago! I'm surprised you had them eating out of your hand with that tale."

"Now, Abigail, you know you should be kind to your elders."

"You are not my elder and are probably in no way a legitimate relative, much less related to me in anyway!"

"So, then why are you here?" The god finally turned around to face her, a sardonic eyebrow quirked in curiosity. The whole bar was quiet, listening to the exchange. He heard the clink of coins and the rustle of paper. Maitland smirked at the irony – they were betting. Though if he knew his patrons as well as he thought he did, most were betting on Thanatos. "All I've done is shake up your family a bit. I got nothing out of it except a large headache and an urge to kill." Lovely, Boss, just lovely. Make me less nervous, why don't you? The patrons applauded and whooped at this pronouncement. "I must have done something to make you wander all the way here and give the risk of dirtying those pretty skirts of yours."

"Don't think so highly of yourself," she shot back. "I just came to tell you the House of Black isn't so easily cowed by your parlor tricks and terror tactics. We are a proud family that will not bow down to any master!" Abigail hit the countertop with her closed fan for emphasis. Her hands were at her narrow corseted waist looking down at Thanatos as if he were the piece of trash.

"A proud and debauched family that I had the regrettable circumstances of starting," Nat replied smoothly. "Bear in mind who you get your blood from, dear little Abby."

"You cretin! My name is Abigail-"

"Yes, I know. Introductions, remember?" He smirked wickedly. "By the way, have I introduced myself? I'm Nathaniel Sebastian Black. The First."

"Fine!" she shouted. "Think whatever you like. But you're not a true Black. We'll live on and whatever you did won't affect us in the least. My elder brother Demetrius will carry on the line, and his son will continue it-"

Nat broke in. "No, they won't. That is the responsibility of your cousin Christopher, son of your supposedly missing uncle." Missing uncle? Most likely 'dead' uncle. Before him, the girl had paled considerably. "Trust me, Abby," Nat continued, "I know very well who is coming and going. Besides, it's from his line that someone will turn up that I'll actually like. Maybe I'll give back the Legacy then." He gave a roguish grin and raised his glass in a mock toast. "Here's to bad eggs!"

"TO BAD EGGS!" the bar toasted, every customer raising their glass.

Abigail Juliana Elizabeth Black pouted and let out a huff of indignation before flouncing away, skirts and all. The little bar erupted in cheers and applause, everyone pleased to see the rich noblewoman go. Much less, go insulted and put down. That was a rarity. Leith Maitland, however, was just happy that no one got killed.

"You know what, Leith," Nat loudly proclaimed, "I'm in a much better mood. Therefore, get out the good stuff and the glasses because this round is on me!"

To the regulars of Maitland's bar, it became official. The newcomer and aristocrat by the name of Nathaniel Sebastian Black was good in their books. But whether that in itself was a good or bad thing, it wasn't known.

The segment where Maitland mentions that the last time Nat was that upset it had to do with what happened to Melania's husband. For all those following the connections here, Melania's husband was Salazar Slytherin. What happened to him will probably be alluded to plenty of times, but I don't think I'll say just what happened to him just yet.

The 'bad egg', so to speak, will be Sirius. Christopher Black would be Sirius' several greats-grandfather.