A/N: Okay, so, I'm kind of mad. I had a beautiful story all laid out and then my brain crapped out on me, so I wrote this in a few hours instead. Hopefully I'll be publishing the other one soon, though not as a part of the competition, which is just as well because the word limit was making it hard to make it good for that particular story. It's midnight, so if I make no sense, I'm sorry lol.

Written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition

Round: 8

Team: Ballycastle Bats

Position: Keeper

General prompt: Voldemort!wins AU

Keeper's prompt: what new laws do the Death Eaters and/or Voldemort make?

Word count: 1,479 (pages)

*This takes place somewhere in the early eighties. Also, it's an AU, so canon can go fly a kite. I took a little foray into Blackcest that almost turned into a full-on safari, but I reigned myself in, so there's only a little bit of Bellatrix/Regulus, and it's only talked about, not seen.*

"I'm confused," Lizzie began, and Cassandra groaned, running a hand through her unruly hair. This was the part of the conversation she always dreaded, especially when she hadn't had a chance to eat her breakfast and get her eyes to open all the way. It was Friday, for Merlin's sake; they had double Astronomy in the evening and would likely be awake all night completing their eight-scroll essay for their Dark Arts class. Thank Morgana her uncle was the professor; he was always willing to be lenient with his favorite niece, though if her aunt found out, there would be hell to pay.

Instead of lamenting the hour and subject, Cassandra merely rolled her eyes and gestured for her friend to continue, reaching for a piece of toast and buttering it with early-morning lethargy.

"How can Gwen be your sister if she's also your second cousin?" Because we're Blacks, Cassandra answered silently, but refrained from responding until Lizzie had had her say. "I thought you said that Rodolphus was your father."

"Rodolphus is my father," Cassandra replied easily, now reaching for the coffee. Merlin, she despised pumpkin juice; she and her mother had that in common. "Rabastan is Andrea's father; Regulus is Gwen's father. Rodolphus and Rabastan are brothers. Regulus is cousins with Bellatrix. Bellatrix is our mother — although I'm pretty sure you know that by now." Pouring ketchup all over her eggs, Lizzie actually snorted.

"Cassie, I'm pretty sure it's, like, against the law not to know that," she retorted. Cassandra wrinkled her nose at the juvenile use of a filler word for mere emphasis. Sweet Circe, she really was her father's daughter. "Plus, I think that your mum would murder anyone who was stupid enough not to pay attention — "

"Don't," Cassandra warned seriously. "The murder jokes might actually come back and bite you, you know, when it's Bellatrix."

"That's another thing!" Lizzie exclaimed, upending the ketchup bottle in her exuberance. "Why do you three call your parents by their names? Seems a little . . . standoffish; I don't know."

"Put it this way: does Bellatrix Lestrange seem particularly motherly to you?" Cassandra drawled coolly. At the expression of mingled incredulity and revulsion that passed over her companion's face, she chuckled lowly. "That's what I thought. Besides, it's easier to sort out who you're talking to that way — conversations at the dinner table get a little confusing if you're saying 'Dad' and three people are responding." For a moment, Lizzie's face remained frozen in a depiction of discomfort.

"All right, then," she decided finally. The eggs were now indistinguishable beneath the ketchup; Cassandra scrunched her face up in distaste. "Tell me this — why?" Cassandra gazed at her blankly.

"Why what?"

"Why is it all so mixed up!" Lizzie exclaimed. "Why is Gwen's first cousin also her father and why is she your sister and your second cousin — and don't even get me started on your aunts." Sighing, giving up her breakfast for a lost cause, Cassandra laid her toast down on the edge of her plate.

"You know why." She couldn't quite stop the exasperation from leaking into her tone, though it wasn't entirely Lizzie's fault; she couldn't exactly blame people for not being able — or being afraid — to keep up with her family's dynamics. "The marriage laws were created to preserve the pureblood lines, but after a while, when the families were getting too closely related, most of them decided that it would be okay to marry high-status half-bloods. Some of the oldest families didn't agree, and they stuck with it, so now everybody's inbred and all have the same last name before they get married, but nobody thinks it matters because we're still pure," she concluded with an exaggeratedly grand sweep of her goblet. "Any other questions?"

"Is that why your eyesight's terrible?" Cassandra let out a pointed huff.

"My eyesight is terrible because I read too much in the dark as a kid," she retorted with a sneer. "The inbreeding's just the reason for my horrible temper tantrums."

"You mean like when you Sectumsempraed that half-blood in Arithmancy last year?" Lizzie's expression was almost eager, as though she relished hearing of Cassandra's violent exploits.

"No," Cassandra replied simply. "That one was on purpose. When my family and I lose our temper, we lose it; we go psycho and don't remember a thing, and it isn't on purpose."

"Why did you do it, then?"

"He peeved me."

"You bisected someone's diaphragm because he peeved you," Lizzie repeated faintly. "Merlin help me if I ever buy you the wrong birthday present." Cassandra really didn't understand why it was so shocking; it wasn't as though her family's temperament was a secret. Most of the violence in the school was their doing.

"He called Gwenyvere a psychotic, manipulative harlot. Why are you asking me this now? You've known me for five years, Liz."

"Gwen is a psychotic, manipulative harlot. And I'm asking you now because I've been avoiding it, but your mother visited here last week and was giving your uncle Rabastan death glares, and I realized that I didn't know exactly how your family worked when I wanted to know whether it had anything to do with any of you."

"It did; she was giving Rabastan death glares because he tried to fail me in Dark Arts," came a voice from behind them. "And thank you for the compliment, though I think manipulative sounds rather childish. Could coercive work any better, do you think?" As Lizzie spluttered over her eggs, Cassandra merely smirked, taking another long sip of coffee.

"Morning, Gwen," she greeted casually, not bothering to look up.

"Morning, baby sister," Gwenyvere returned, sliding onto the bench next to her little sister. They shared a brief but warm smile before Gwen's attention was drawn to the plate of ketchup eggs. "Morgana's tits, Frizzy Lizzie; reign in your obsession. The ketchup doesn't love you back." Now collecting any remaining partially dry eggs with a spoon, Lizzie glared.

"Why are you here, Gwen?" she asked rudely. Gwen's smile didn't falter; lazily, she stretched her long limbs, extending them across the shoulders of the two girls at her sides.

"Well, I've just come from the ladies'," she began idly, distractedly twirling a curly strand of Cassandra's hair around her pinky tip. "Andrea was there, and she said she heard it from Rabastan that Rodolphus said that Bella was sure that . . . oh, bother, with so many names, I can't remember!" she exclaimed with false exasperation, releasing Cassandra's hair. It sprung back like a coiled spring. "The gist of it is that since I come of age tomorrow, Tom's visiting today to celebrate." As Cassandra's features lit up, Lizzie's darkened with confusion.

"Tom?" she piped up quizzically. Both Gwen and Cassandra fixed her with a deadpan stare. Lizzie's eyes flickered to their left forearms worn proudly exposed by their short blouse sleeves. The penny dropped. "You call the Dark Lord Tom?" Both girls rolled their eyes with as much sarcasm as they could possibly imbue the action with.

"Bellatrix is his consort," Gwen drawled.

"By the non-blood marriage laws, any heir of the consort is the heir of the ruler," Cassandra supplied. "He's practically our father."

"He made sure to cover all the bases," Gwen added. "I think he just wants to make sure he's got all sorts of options for a successor in case one of us turns out to be a blood traitor — hey, Cassie!" Her gaze was fixed on the doorway to the entrance hall, where Tom Riddle stood tall and imposing, Bellatrix at his side, his dark eyes sweeping the room.

Every occupant of the Great Hall stilled as though turned to stone.

Hardly a moment passed before, in perfect coordination, retaining a gracefulness reminiscent of serpents, Cassandra, Gwen, Andrea, and Rodolphus from the staff table stood and silently picked their way between the tables to the doorway. Behind Tom and Bellatrix stood Rabastan and Regulus. Cassandra knew it wasn't the most normal of family gatherings, but with all eight of them standing there, she had to admit that they looked impressive — powerful. For whatever reason, Tom had ensured that the Black family would remain strong, and in that moment, Cassandra was glad. They were family: they were worth the explanation — mostly. She loved them, but in all honesty . . .

Well, next time, maybe Gwen could explain.