Harry potter: I am the king of United Kingdom

The Slytherin common room was bathed in an eerie green glow from the Black Lake beyond. Magnus Grindelwald-Riddle strode through its quiet halls, the weight of his summons heavy on his mind. Professor Quirrell's message had been cryptic, but Magnus was no stranger to secrets and schemes.

Reaching his private quarters, Magnus pushed the door open. The room was as he had left it: neat, orderly, and adorned with relics of his lineage—trinkets from Grindelwald's vaults and books of ancient dark magic. But the air was different, charged with a tension he couldn't ignore.

Professor Quirrell stood at the center of the room, his back turned, his hands trembling ever so slightly. The turban he always wore seemed looser than usual, its layers barely holding together.

"Professor Quirrell," Magnus said, his tone sharp, "to what do I owe this... intrusion?"

Quirrell turned slowly, his usual nervous demeanor replaced by something far more sinister. He didn't speak but reached for the edge of his turban. With deliberate precision, he began to unravel it.

Magnus watched, his sharp eyes narrowing. He had heard whispers, rumors of the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor's strange behavior, but he had dismissed them. Until now.

The final layer of the turban fell away, revealing a sight that would have shocked anyone else. The back of Quirrell's head was no longer human flesh—it was the pale, twisted visage of another man.

Magnus's breath caught, but only for a moment. His curiosity overpowered any fear. "So," he said calmly, "the rumors are true."

The pale face smirked, its slitted red eyes locking onto Magnus. "Magnus Grindelwald-Riddle," it rasped, the voice sending a chill through the room, "my son."

Magnus's composure faltered. The words struck him like a blow. "What?"

Voldemort's laugh was cold and cruel. "Did no one tell you? Did they think you would never discover the truth? You are my blood, boy. My heir."

Magnus stepped back, his mind racing. He had always known he was different, exceptional even. The Grindelwald lineage had given him power and cunning, but this revelation... it changed everything.

"You lie," Magnus said, though his voice lacked conviction.

Voldemort's expression twisted into a sneer. "Do I? Do you think your magic, your ambitions, your very essence came solely from your mother's side? No, Magnus. You are the product of two great legacies—Grindelwald's brilliance and my power. Together, we could rule this world."

Magnus's grimoire floated to his side, its pages flipping as shadows curled around him. "You expect me to believe this? To accept you after a lifetime of silence?"

Quirrell turned, allowing Voldemort to face Magnus fully. "I have watched you, guided you from the shadows. You have proven yourself, my son. But the time for watching is over. You will join me, or you will fall like the rest."

Magnus's mind reeled. The weight of his lineage, the truth of his parentage, bore down on him. He thought of Arthur Pendragon, of the battles ahead. And yet, he couldn't deny the dark allure of the man before him.

"I will consider your offer," Magnus said, his voice steady but his heart pounding. "But if you want my loyalty, you must earn it."

Voldemort's lips curled into a malevolent grin. "Spoken like a true Riddle."

As Quirrell rewrapped the turban, Magnus turned away, his thoughts a whirlwind. His destiny had always been his own, but now, it was tied to a legacy of power and darkness.

He walked to the window, staring out at the murky waters of the Black Lake. The world had shifted, and Magnus knew one thing: the battles ahead would not only define him but reshape the fate of magic itself.