When Voldemort proudly declared his name, expecting at least a scream in response, Cassandra merely responded, unhurriedly:
"Oh..."
Voldemort: "???"
This girl—something's not right!
A cold wind swept through the Forbidden Forest at midnight, leaving the scene in an awkward silence.
After a long pause, Voldemort mused aloud:
"It seems your parents have kept you well-protected. You don't appear to know my name."
But before he could finish his thought, Cassandra nonchalantly cut in:
"Of course, I know your name. Tom Riddle—the most deranged Dark wizard in history, the second-generation Dark Lord, and the master of the Death Eaters."
Voldemort seemed momentarily surprised by Cassandra's words. But recalling who she was, he nodded thoughtfully and said:
"You know quite a bit. Even after all these years, students of Slytherin still whisper my name in reverence."
At that, memories of his time at Hogwarts surfaced, and Voldemort couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement. He continued:
"Since that is the case, in honor of Slytherin, I will make you an offer. Swear loyalty to me, and I shall grant you the Dark Mark, allowing you to join the Death Eaters. When I return to power, there will be a place for you at my side."
Hearing Voldemort's words, Cassandra let out a cold chuckle. She was about to refuse outright when an idea seemed to strike her. Instead, she tilted her head and said:
"You claim to be Voldemort? Do you have any proof? Because all I see is some coward too afraid to show his face, skulking in the shadows, speaking to me from the darkness."
As soon as Cassandra finished speaking, Quirrell stepped forward angrily, snapping:
"Insolent! How dare you speak to the Dark Lord that way?"
But Cassandra remained utterly unfazed, glancing around as if looking for something.
"Dark Lord? Where? I don't see him anywhere."
Quirrell reached for his wand, prepared to teach this arrogant girl a lesson, but before he could act, a voice rang out once more:
"Unwrap the turban."
Quirrell hesitated, then quickly tried to dissuade him:
"Master, you are still too weak! You need more time to recover. Let me deal with this impudent child instead."
But his devotion did not earn him Voldemort's approval.
"I said… unwrap it!" Voldemort's voice was laced with fury.
Realizing there was no room for argument, Quirrell bowed his head and respectfully replied:
"Yes, Master."
The truth was, Voldemort had little choice. At this moment, he was all but alone.
His most loyal Death Eaters remained imprisoned in Azkaban, and those who had evaded capture? Voldemort knew exactly what kind of people they were—cowards and opportunists.
He needed new followers. Desperately.
That was why he had moved so quickly against Wentworth—because behind Wentworth stood an entire Alliance.
And now, this Slytherin girl before him…
Voldemort understood all too well that his ideology was an irresistible lure for most Slytherins.
More than that, this Cassandra girl seemed to share an unusual connection with Wentworth Grindelwald. If he could recruit her, it would bring him one step closer to controlling both Wentworth and the Alliance.
So, Voldemort was willing to expose his weakened state—just for the chance to meet Cassandra face-to-face.
If it had been any other wizard speaking to him this way, the Cruciatus Curse would have long since been cast.
Did they think the title Dark Lord was given lightly?
No—titles meant something in this world.
And so, as Quirrell carefully unwound his turban, layer by layer, he finally turned his back to Cassandra.
A grotesque, half-formed face emerged from the back of his head.
Cassandra's eyes widened in shock as she took in the horrifying sight. The face—distorted, burned, its features barely discernible—made her stomach churn with nausea.
After a long silence, she finally spoke:
"How hideous."
Quirrell stiffened, about to turn around and rebuke her, but remembering Voldemort's earlier command, he held his tongue.
Still, Cassandra noticed something.
For the briefest of moments, the shallow, labored breathing from the back of Quirrell's head became just a fraction heavier.
A tense silence followed before Voldemort finally spoke again:
"Now, do you believe in my existence?"
Cassandra nodded, her lips curving into a smile.
"I believe it now. So… this is where you are."
Hearing her response, Voldemort wasted no time:
"Then, will you join the Death Eaters? Become my disciple? As a Slytherin, you must understand my vision—Pureblood supremacy. Will you not lend me your strength?"
But the scene Voldemort had envisioned—Cassandra falling to her knees, pledging eternal loyalty—did not come to pass.
Instead, she calmly shook her head and slowly said:
"No."
At that very moment, a streak of lightning illuminated the night sky, followed by a rolling thunderclap.
A storm was coming.
Voldemort had not expected this answer.
Suppressing his anger, he demanded:
"Why?"
Cassandra's reply was swift and unwavering:
"Because I have already sworn loyalty to another."
At first, Voldemort was about to ask who, but then realization dawned upon him. His voice took on a dangerous edge as he asked:
"Wentworth Grindelwald? The Alliance?"
Cassandra met his gaze head-on and nodded firmly, utterly unafraid.
Even after receiving her confirmation, Voldemort wasn't ready to accept defeat.
"Wentworth Grindelwald? That child? He is nothing but a foolish boy. Before long, even he will kneel before me."
"Cassandra, I am offering you one final chance. Join the Death Eaters."
But Cassandra remained steadfast.
She shook her head once more and, in an unwavering voice, declared:
"You are nothing more than a relic of the past. And he…"
Her eyes gleamed with conviction as she finished:
"He will be the Dark Lord of a new era."
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