TOM RIDDLE HOUSEFIRE GAME

Morning came too quickly. A pale light crept over Founder Hollow, brushing across torn tents, bruised students, and the last trails of mist still clinging to the ground like it refused to let them go. Tom was already awake. He sat outside his tent, cloak wrapped around his shoulders, eyes on the sky. The camp was quiet—too quiet. Even the birds avoided the area, as if they knew something was coming. Footsteps approached. Lily sat beside him, pulling her knees close. “Did you sleep?” Tom didn’t answer immediately. “A little.” She exhaled, looking toward the center of camp. “Everyone’s scared.” He didn’t disagree. He didn’t need to. Fear clung to the place like another layer of fog. Across camp, James was pacing, wand in hand, jaw tight. He kept glancing around—first at the trees… then at Sameyr. Sameyr avoided him every time. And Samera stayed close to her, eyes sharp, always watching who noticed. Lucius limped out of his tent, wincing dramatically. “Brilliant,” he muttered. “My whole body feels like a broomstick hit me repeatedly.” Beatrix shot him a dead stare. “Good. Maybe it’ll fix your mouth.” Lucius opened his mouth to retort, but thought better of it. Before Lucius could complain further, a sudden pressure swept through the camp — heavy, humming, almost electric. The air shifted. The ground trembled. Then— FWOOM. A column of gold fire erupted in the center of Founder Hollow, twisting upward like a living pillar. Students jerked awake in their tents, heads snapping toward the blaze as it folded inward… reshaping… condensing… And from its heart, Fyrebrand stepped out. But not like before. Not calm. Not casual. This was different. His cloak burned at the edges with embers that didn’t fall. His staff glowed like molten metal, pulsing slowly and dangerously. Even the sunlight seemed to bend around him, as if the morning itself didn’t dare touch him. James stopped pacing. Sameyr froze mid-step. Every whisper in the camp died instantly. Fyrebrand lifted his staff once — just once — And the entire valley fell silent. The fire behind him roared higher, shaping into wings, His voice boomed, deeper than before: “I am glad you are all awake.” The words rolled through the valley like thunder, shaking the morning stillness. “Rise. Stand tall. The last test waits for no one.” Students straightened instinctively, as if the ground itself demanded it. Fyrebrand’s burning cloak flared outward, the golden flames behind him sharpening into a blazing circle of symbols. “You two teams,” he continued, eyes cutting through the camp like a blade, “have reached the final edge of the Housefire Games.” A hush. A breath. The flames behind him twisted into two flags — one blue, one red — hovering in the air like floating embers. “Your final challenge…” He raised his staff, slamming it into the earth. “…is a game called Capture the Flag.” The fire cracked, sparks shooting into the sky. The stunned look on their faces lingered, the golden fire still reflecting in their wide eyes. Lucius scoffed. “Capture the flag? Seriously? That’s a kids’ game.” Fyrebrand turned toward him, the flames behind him tightening like they’d heard an insult. “This is not a regular capture the flag,” he said — calm, not dramatic. Just firm. “Listen carefully.” He lifted his staff. The fire shifted, forming two glowing starting points at opposite ends of the hollow. “You begin from each side. The obstacles between you aren’t simple.” Then twelve fiery figures appeared behind him — and symbols rose above them one by one. First: A shield. “Five defenders.” Next: A sword. “Four attackers.” Then the flames bent into binoculars. “Two scouts.” Last, a crown hovered above the tallest flame. “And one leader.” Students murmured, tense now. “The defenders protect the leader,” Fyrebrand continued. “The leader carries the flag. And this time, the flag moves with you. No base. No safe zone.” More whispers. “The attackers try to grab the other team’s flag. The scouts find where the flag is.” He lifted a finger. “But before your team can steal anything, one scout has to cast Lumos when they spot the enemy flag. No Lumos, no steal.” Instant noise. “Do we pick ourselves?” “Who gets to be leader?” “What if someone refuses?” “Do we vote? Fight for it? What?” Questions overlapped everywhere. Fyrebrand tapped his staff once against the ground — not loud, just enough. The murmuring died instantly. Before anyone could ask another question, he lifted his staff again, the tip glowing with a slow-building gold light. “No. You won’t be choosing,” he said. A ripple went through the students — confusion, tension, a few gasps. Fyrebrand rotated his wrist, and the golden symbols above him—the shield, the sword, the binoculars, the crown—began to rise higher into the air, spinning slowly like they were caught in a quiet orbit. Then his voice dropped: “The roles choose you.” The light from his staff burst outward in a ring of soft gold fire. Not violent. Not loud. Just… inevitable. The symbols flared brighter. A shield broke away from the circle first, streaking across the sky like a comet, then slowing as it drifted down toward a group of students. It hovered over one person—waiting—then settled gently onto their chest, sinking into their clothing like ink in water. Gasps exploded around the camp. Then a sword peeled off next, spinning once before descending toward another student, circling them like it was inspecting, judging, measuring—before finally pressing itself against their shoulder in a glow. More symbols followed. One by one, shields drifted out in steady patterns, choosing their defenders. Swords swooped low, scanning faces before locking onto attackers. The binocular symbols glided silently, almost eerily, as if they already knew exactly who they belonged to. They paused above two students at once, hovering… hovering… then lowered themselves in twin beams of gold. Students stood frozen, breath held, eyes glued to the sky. Finally, the crown. It didn’t rush. It didn’t flicker. It didn’t hesitate It hung above the hollow like it was weighing every heartbeat, every breath, every fear in the valley. Students shifted nervously. No one dared say a word. The crown tilted, almost as if looking down at them—choosing, deciding. Slowly, deliberately, it began to descend. And as it drifted downward, the entire hollow stayed silent, every student waiting to see where it would land… Soon, the roles were assigned. On the Blue Team: Remus, Owen, Mira, and Bellatrix were the attackers. Draden and Annabel were the scouts. And Sirius… Sirius was chosen to lead, the crown settling on his head. Bellatrix crossed her arms, lips pressed into a thin line. Her gaze fixed on Sirus for longer than necessary. You’ve done something again, so-called leader, she said Sirus replied, “I'm just worth it, you won’t get that.” Bellatrix's rage showed so much that the whole team felt it. The air shifted again, quiet but heavy, as the attention turned to the next group. One by one, the Red Team stepped forward, each name called like a bell striking in the hollow. Whispers trailed behind them—some familiar, some unexpected—every student aware that this was no ordinary gathering. Soon, the roles were revealed. James, Lily, Sameyr, and Oren — attackers. Tom and Samera — scouts Helena, Kaito, Thalia, Beatrix, Cordelia — defenders And Lucius — leader, the crown settling on him with an unexpected finality, drawing all eyes to him. A flicker of surprise passed through the Red Team. James raised an eyebrow, exchanging a quick, incredulous glance with Lily. “Lucius?” he murmured under his breath, disbelief threading his tone. Sameyr’s hand paused mid-motion, her eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Lucius. Even Oren’s grin faltered, just for a heartbeat, as though trying to reconcile the crown with the boy now wearing it. Among the defenders, whispers rippled silently—Helena’s sharp eyes widened briefly, Kaito’s fingers tightened on his journal, and Cordelia shifted uneasily, the unexpected choice setting the air on edge. Beatrix tilted her head, forcing a polite smile, but her gaze betrayed a flicker of uncertainty. Only Lucius remained composed, crown gleaming, expression unchanging, as if he had expected the hollow’s decision all along. His calm presence in the midst of their shock made the tension thicker, heavier, almost palpable. Even the scouts, Tom and Samera, seemed to exchange a fleeting glance, noting the ripple of unease across their teammates. Sameyr stepped forward, disbelief sharpening his voice. “Fyrebrand—this can’t be right. Rechoose. Lucius isn’t—” She didn’t even get the whole sentence out before half the Red Team burst into overlapping protests. James threw his hands up. “There’s no way this is the final choice!” Lily frowned, arms crossed. “Are you sure the symbols didn’t misread something?” Kaito muttered under his breath, “Statistically improbable…” Cordelia shook her head sharply. “With respect, sir, this doesn’t make sense.” Even Beatrix, usually calm and sunny, hesitated before saying, “Maybe… maybe the crown glitched?” Voices rose, frustration building, all directed toward the single decision hovering above Lucius’s head like a silent verdict. Lucius himself stood unmoving, expression unreadable, neither defending nor denying the crown’s choice. Fyrebrand lifted a hand. The hollow fell silent instantly. His gaze swept over them—measured, steady, unbothered by the outburst. “What’s done,” he said, each word deliberate, “is done.” A low ripple passed through the group, but no one dared argue again. “Your roles have been chosen,” Fyrebrand continued. “Your leader has been chosen. Accept it. Adapt. And prepare yourselves.” His eyes glowed faintly, fire flickering behind them like a warning and a promise. “We begin Capture the Flag soon.” The words settled over them like a final drumbeat, leaving no room for doubt—no room for argument. Only the match ahead. The hollow was quiet, but it didn’t feel like it would stay that way for long. Voices carried faintly from other tents. People were getting ready and not moving yet — just… waiting. Sirius stood with his team near the edge of their camp. He glanced around once, then spoke. “Okay. Let’s sort this now.” Remus nodded. “Before Lucius team starts running.” Owen looked toward the trees. “We don’t have much time.” Bellatrix wasn’t part of the circle. She stood a short distance away, leaning against a tent, arms crossed, pretending not to listen — but listening anyway. Draden drew three quick lines in the dirt. “There are three ways out of the hollow.” “So we split,” Mira said. “Yes,” Remus replied, “but cleanly. Four people per group.” Sirius tilted his head. “Three groups.” “Exactly,” Remus said. “Only two groups get scouts.” Annabel frowned slightly. “What about the third?” “That one stays with you,” Remus said, looking at Sirius. “Leader plus defenders.” Sirius thought for a second, then nodded. “That keeps the flag safe.” “And if one scout group finds the other team’s flag,” Draden added, “they cast Lumos.” “The second group moves in right after,” Owen said. Simple. Fast. Clear. Sirius straightened. “Alright. We do it this way.” The Red Team stood close together, voices low. James spoke first. “We split. In the same way, they probably will.” Oren nodded. “Two groups. Maybe three.” Lily frowned. “Splitting means moving the flag.” Lucius frowned too, fingers tightening on his staff. He still didn’t speak. Sameyr crossed her arms. “If we don’t spread out, we’ll never find them.” Helena shook her head. “And if we spread out, we get picked off.” The talk went back and forth for a bit. Then it started to settle. James shrugged. “Alright. Two groups then.” Lucius nodded once, still unsure. That was when Tom finally spoke. “No.” Everyone turned. Tom hadn’t said anything the whole time. “We shouldn’t split,” he said calmly. “Not with Lucius as leader.” Lucius’s eyes narrowed. “Why?” “Because the chance of losing our flag is high,” Tom said. “Too many people moving makes us easy to spot.” The group went quiet. “So what do you suggest?” Lily asked. “We move small,” Tom replied. “One scout. Two attackers.” Sameyr raised an eyebrow. “That’s it?” “Yes,” Tom said. “Low noise. Low risk.” Lucius thought for a moment. “And the rest of us?” “We stay,” Tom said. “Close to you.” Lucius nodded slowly. “And after?” “After some time,” Tom continued, “we sent another scout. With one defender.” “Not an attacker?” Helena asked. “No,” Tom said. “We’ll need attackers later. If we find where they’re hiding their leader.” Lucius was quiet for a moment. Then he nodded. “Alright. We do that.” He looked at Tom. “You scout first.” Tom nodded once. Lucius turned to Lily and Sameyr. “You two go with him.” Lily tightened her grip on her wand. “Got it.” Sameyr gave a short smile. “Let’s not get seen.” The air shifted. Not loud. Not violent. Just heavy. Fyrebrand stepped forward into the center of the hollow, staff pressed into the ground. The golden fire behind him dimmed, pulling inward like it was being held back. Every voice died. Red Team and Blue Team stood frozen, eyes locked on him. “This is your final test,” Fyrebrand said. His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried. “You’ve planned. You’ve argued. You’ve chosen how to trust each other.” His gaze moved slowly across both teams. “From this moment on, the hollow is live.” He lifted his staff. “The flags are active. The rules stand.” A pause. “Scouts must mark before a steal. Leaders must stay alert. No safe ground. No second chances.” The fire at the tip of his staff flared bright. “Winning is simple,” he said. “Keeping your team intact is not.” The flames shot upward, then split — red fire burning on one side of the hollow, blue on the other — sinking into the ground like marks only magic could see. Fyrebrand lowered his staff. “Begin.” The fire vanished. For one heartbeat, no one moved. Then Sirius glanced at his team. Lucius tightened his grip on his staff. Tom shifted his weight, eyes already on the trees. The Housefire Games had started. TO BE CONTINUED NESSGEEORIGINAL