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.

BEFORE YOU CONTINUE ON, IT IS ADVISED THAT YOU READ THE FIC ELEMENTAL GENESIS. IT WILL CLARIFY A FEW THINGS.

I say this to those who aren't really familiar with my Elemental universe. One of the most popular characters in my Elemental series is Thanatos, the god of death. He's a carefree and free-spirited individual, unlike most members of his family.

If you're wondering the connection to Harry Potter, there are many. Thanatos happens to be Sirius' ancestor, the one who started the whole Black family. This is his story about a jaunt to the mortal realm to visit them during the late 1800s. Hogwarts will come up, as well as members of the magical community, and a very young Albus Dumbledore. And, of course, elementals.

I still advise any unfamiliar readers to read Elemental Genesis first. I hope you enjoy the story.

---Raven Dragonclaw

Elemental Sight

Chapter One
Once More, Being Himself

Me? I'm always the insane one. Been so since I was born. At least, according to my borthers and sisters. And my father. Along with my mother. Nearly everyone says that I am. It contrasts greatly with the whole "scary Death" image that I'm supposedly supposed to uphold.
…But I at least get to have some fun!
-Thanatos (Death, the Grim Reaper, Nathaniel Black…do you really need this?)

"So, do you think that it is a good idea?"

"Do you want my true and honest opinion?"

"I wouldn't be asking if I weren't, now would I?"

"Yes, you would."

A slight pause. "Okay, you got me there. But honestly now."

"I think it is perhaps one of the most outrageous and otherwise unreasonable - if not insane - ideas that you've had since that jaunt as a conquistador in the 1500s!"

Silvery light filtered in through the blue curtains, giving the pair of deities in the room an ethereal - nay, ghostly - cast on their pale skin. One was a regal young woman, looking to be in her mid-twenties, sitting comfortably on a dark green armchair, looking over her tea critically at her company. Legs crossed and a boot swinging slightly in the air to some unseen and unheard rhythm with practiced grace, the lift revealed a hint of scarlet red petticoat. Her clothing was that of a riding outfit for a lady - a long woolen dress, a surcoat that was militaristic in fashion due to its elaborate trim and tassels. Completely done out in sable, silver, and crimson, she seemed at home in this realm of night and darkness, the queen of the mysterious black powers. Her dark hair was plaited in many braids, wound together in a complex bun. She balanced a sheaf of papers on her knee, the turquoise heron feather tucked behind her ear. Dark blue eyes were narrowed in suspicion (the amused kind), but her mouth was in a frown. Obviously, she was caught somewhere between mischief and disapproval. Somehow.He sighed. His little sister had - sadly - become...responsible. It was now a confirmed fact: she had been spending far too much time with their other siblings. Could it be Artemis or Moros? Maybe his own twin brother, Hypnos?

Either way, she had lost the light!...No. That was the wrong way to put it. Strayed off her path? Yes. Much better.

The young man gave her a suffering look – plainly designed to gain sympathy…and ultimately what he wanted in the long run. It always worked with his mother; the exception being all times after she had found out that she had been duped and he found himself on the end of an earful. The "puppy-dog" look, as he called it, was his patented creation and could not fail! Unfortunately, he was dealing with his sister, his usual cohort in mischief, so she knew when he was currying for appeasement. He stood leaning against a stone fireplace, empty and devoid of light and warmth. His dark hair was roguishly messy and looked in need of a trim, the black locks curling at the ears and the nape of the neck, combined with wicked good looks (in his opinion) and irrepressible charm – he considered himself somewhat lucky. Especially when it came to style. You couldn't beat him when it came to style. At the moment, he was wearing slate gray tweed suit with a seersucker vest and modest shoes. A crisp white shirt, devoid of ruffles that some preferred but pleated and neat, a black scarf wrapped around his neck. Generally, the clothing of the day. Unlike his twin (black robes and all that), the younger set of twin brothers (a combination of combat robes and armor), and their older brother Moros. He was under the belief that sibling was not quite right in the mind – what sane person would think that long billowing black coats and fedora hats would ever be somewhat popular?

Then again, he was speaking of Moros. The god of cunning (and his lesser known – and his opinion, more appropriate – duty of overseeing downfall and doom) always had some scheme cooking up in his head. He'd have to be insane. No reasonable individual could handle the complexity of those machinations. Not that he himself didn't scheme himself.

Which was what got him into trouble most of the time anyway.

"Now, Mel," he cajoled. "You know that I just couldn't resist going then, right?"

Melania gave him a pointed look. "I'm sorry if my expectations of your self-control were inflated, Nat. Or is it Don Luis Carlos Aristizabal del Seville? But you weren't the one who had to deal with mother. And Father. It didn't help that Moros was – for lack of anything better to do – playing Devil's Advocate. There's a reason he patrons lawyers, you know that!" She steadied the papers on her knee, for in her rant they had nearly fallen to the carpeted floor.

"Lousy snake," he muttered. "I knew I should have drugged him before I left then…must remember to do that this time around…"

"Thanatos!"

He shrugged. "It's the truth! And you said it yourself, he didn't help matters anyway." Thanatos paused in thought, beginning to pace as he did. It was a habit of him to do that when thoughtful or worried. "I wonder why he does that to me all the time. Is it because he's an older brother? Maybe. But I'm an older brother, as well. I'm not a jerk…at least I don't think I'm a jerk." He stopped to look at her. "Mel? Am I a jerk?"

She ignored the question with a roll of her eyes and a wave of her hand, eliciting a delighted laugh from the brother. He loved it when she got frustrated. Wait – but would that mean that he was a … his ponderings were broken as his sister started to speak again. "And in retrospect, it didn't matter. Dad always knows when you go off on one of your adventures," Melania countered. "He wants you to do your job, not run off who knows where to leave your Reapers to it."

"For your information," he defended hotly, "I am a good god of death!" Never mind the fact that he had the habit of going off on his own and interfering in mortal affairs. Such as that the time his sister brought up briefly. And that time during the Middle Ages. And the Renaissance. And the French Revolution (nearly got guillotined then, that he did). What could he say? He couldn't just sit around all day nor could he dutifully go about his job bringing dead souls for his sister to judge. It got tedious after a time. And the stress! Look at Hypnos; he worked twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week! Heaven forbid you interrupt his schedule – especially considering his rather obvious hatred of insomniacs. And that he…propositioned the help of a few dead souls to help with the collection. The world was a big place, after all…

Yes, he was a good god of death. Got to keep up that self-esteem!

"Speaking of Dad and your Reapers," Melania put in, "how are you going to pay them back for their services to you? Dad wants to know about that." She set the teacup down on the nearby end table, the china clinking loudly in the silence, looking at him expectantly. Thanatos settled for giving her a blank stare, at the sight of which she groaned at. "Don't tell me – you never even thought of it, have you?"

"I figured just being in the presence of my sparkling personality and beguilingly amicable candor would be enough, actually."

If there was one thing that he could always claim he possessed, it was an inordinate amount of charisma and persuasion. Sure, it took him a much longer time to convince Melania that he was as innocent as a newborn (despite the fact that when he was born, he had killed the doctor…but that wasn't exactly his fault, really) and not going to cause an ounce of trouble. Why? For the simple reason that she was usually his compatriot in…crime. Wrong word. Hmm…he definitely needed to improve upon his vocabulary. There had to be other words to more accurately convey his ideas. Because, quite frankly, it was just getting frustrating now.

Pain in the arse. Yeah. Good expression for that situation there.

Hands in the pockets of his breeches, he set off down the busy street, grinning absently and humming a tune. Blue eyes turned upward, he noted the curling black spires of smoke trailing in the sky. He wasn't sure what to think of that. While he was all for the advancement of technology and human innovation (except in the case of the guillotine, but that was another story…partially), he didn't know how to approach this encroachment against nature. There was a balance to maintain, after all, and it was his duty as a dark god to keep that fragile equilibrium. And while he was Death personified, he did have his job to do, even if he tried to avoid it as much as possible.

…Back to avoiding!

He had given a legitimate reason for this visit – to see his mortal relatives and how they were doing. Thanatos, or 'Nat' as he preferred, was going to drop in on his descendants. Impromptu, if you will. It was the best way to do it. After all, if you were told a god was coming for a small call, wouldn't you try to put on a good face and try to milk him for favors for all its worth? Yeah. He wasn't going for that. And it would give him a more accurate look at the family. For him, it was obligation (sadly) and responsibility (gasp!) mixed with some curiosity that drew this on. Artemis, since she held superiority over him as the oldest, claimed that she kept an eye on them herself and they were just what she would expect – completely and utterly insane.

This, of course, instigated an argument, in which Nat had been assured that those supposedly 'insane' descendants of his were much like he was in personality. It would make sense. Artemis, goddess of the moon, had been calling her younger brother Thanatos, god of death, insane since he was…if given to human years, about three (when he had proclaimed his knowledge that he was going to have another sibling again at the dinner table for the simple fact that 'Mum was fat again'). His sister – Artemis, not Melania – had just smiled grimly and said "Go ahead".

Curiosity be damned, he was going to see what she was so smug about.

He stopped in front of a well-to-do house, grand and obviously maintained with the utmost care. Nat, nevertheless, scowled at it. Why? It was so formal! And, in its own way, absolutely dismal. This house was all cold stone and practically stank of spells. It did not go beyond his attention that the neighbors, whose houses were overshadowed by the stark behemoth, avoided looking at the house. Not surprised, he noticed that their eyes simply glanced over it. But still...the aura of antipathy and formality cut through the air like a knife and even if others couldn't see it, they could certainly feel it. As he was walking up the sidewalk, an old woman carrying a basket of vegetables from the market scurried past.

Needless to say, he was amused when she stopped short next to him, giving him an incredulous look. With a short gasp, she hastily crossed her heart, and with apparent venom in her voice, rattled, "I remember you."

Nat raised an eyebrow. Really? Interesting. "I am afraid that I do not recall the meeting," he answered neutrally. What better way to get out information than being intentionally vague?

"You were always there," she spat, glaring at him through slightly crazed eyes, pointing a hooked finger at him. "My mother died in childbirth, you were by her bedside. You were there when my father died in India - the letter said a handsome dark-haired man was there. My brothers with cholera and the influenza, you were at their funerals, standing by their graves. My sister when that bloody son of a bitch that she had for a husband finally did her in. When my husband died, YOU were there. You were always there." The tension hung in the air, a specter brought on by his mere presence and the past.You are Death," she finished scathingly. "And now you have come for me."

Nat smiled enigmatically, nodding in the negative. "I am afraid that you've still got a few years left in you," he admitted, grinning wildly, noting her surprise. Ah, he loved when he did that. Just because he went around...dealing death as it were, didn't make him a bad person. And that was his job. It wasn't as if he had much of a say in it. "I can say that the souls of your family are doing quite well. But I do suggest you get your affairs in order, Madam Davenport. It would help a great deal."

Giving him the evil eye and a feral shriek, she turned away, hurrying down the street. To her retreating back, he called out, "Life promises only good fortune to your nephew! See that young Timothy takes advantage of that." Nat turned away before he could catch the startled halt of Madam Davenport, her questioning and suspicious look, and her final dismal of hatred. If he had, it was doubtful that he would care. He was far too used to that reception to be particularly bothered by it.

Finishing the trek to the stair, he took the knocker and rapped on the door smartly seven times. That was the tradition - a family member would always knock seven times. He would know - he founded it. Back in those old Medieval days, with Ariadne...

Sigh. He missed her dearly. Now was not the time to dwell on the far past, though. It was time to meet the said result of his and Ariadne's brief (in his case) time together. Their descendents.

The door opened to reveal the long and tired face of a creature, wearing a dirty towel wrapped around it like a toga. Thanatos barely managed to restrain his disapproval. He disliked using house-elves. It took the spark out of just doing something. "Who is calling may I ask?" the house-elf intoned listlessly.

"Nathaniel Black," he answered crisply.

"I knows there is no ones by that name," the house-elf returned. "My whole life have I served the Black family."

Nat nodded his agreement. "I must admit that makes perfect sense...does it not, Daggert?" he admitted to the elf, smiling knowingly down at the elf, who backed away in suspicion...if not fear. The house-elf had not said its name nor had anyone summoned it, certainly not in front of this stranger. "After all, I am a great deal older than you. If you look at the family tree, you'll find my name. First name on the top." The buggy green eyes got even wider. "There wouldn't be any Blacks without me, you know," Nat continued, enjoying this.

He had a like of surprising people. So what?

"MASTER JULIUS! LORD BLACK IS HERE! NOT DEAD IS NATHANIEL BLACK! IS AT THE DOOR!"

There was a flurry of feet. Oh, this was going to be good.