Disclaimer: Nope, don't own it. At least not if you recognize it. I do own the whole idea of the Chaos Club, and Mera, Zach, Jim, and Rachel.
The next summer, I received my letter of invitation to Hogwarts. Zach and I had a small party, just because we felt like it. "Go Mera! We got in!" My name is Emerald, but my friends call me Mera. Not Em, not Emma—Mera. I know it's odd, but "odd" just about sums up my entire existence. Wait a minute. Now I've offended myself. No single word could sum up the "me" part of me. My last name is Jones, a rather common name, but I like it. It's mine. And I'll bet there's no other Mera Jones out there. There probably aren't too many Meras out there, if there are any at all besides me.
Mom went to Diagon Alley to get my stuff, because I was going to the Quidditch World Cup. It was being hosted by Britain that year, and there was no way I was going to miss it. I'd begun flying when I was about four, on Dad's old Silver Arrow, which was really a nice broom, just not as fast as the newer ones. He'd taken quite good care of it.
Zach's family and mine paid for our campsites together. Zach rolled his eyes when the Muggle commented on how odd the people were, how most everyone was having trouble with money. "No duh," he whispered to me. "This Muggle money makes no sense. Give me good old Galleons any day." I smiled a bit at that, since Muggle money was actually more logical than wizard money. What sort of a ratio is twenty-nine to one, or seventeen to one?
There were people selling all sorts of cool things, like Omnioculars and miniature Krum action-figures. Zach and I each got a pair of Omnioculars, paying for them with our own spending money. We got something to eat, I don't remember exactly what, and went to find seats. Luckily, we were some of the first people there, so we got some of the best seats excepting the Top Box. A kid who looked to be about our age wandered over and sat next to us. He had flaming red hair and freckles, just like the Weasleys, so I figured he must be one of them, but wondered why he wasn't with his family. I also wondered why he hadn't been in the photograph.
"Hi," he said. "My name's Jim Johnson. What's yours?" So he wasn't a Weasley. Maybe he was related to the Weasleys, for example his mother could have been a Weasley before she married.
"I'm Mera Jones," I replied, trying to be polite. I'm not a very good conversationalist. I did note the similarity between our names.
"And I'm Zach Taylor," said Zach.
"Are you related to the Weasleys?" I asked Jim, for I was quite curious. I love any tidbit of information I can get, as long as it might possibly be useful in some way. Sometimes I'll even learn useless trivia just for the fun of it.
"Yeah, I think they're my third-cousins or something," he said, and added, "on my mom's side. Are you related to Hestia Jones?"
"Yes, actually, she's my mother," I replied, feeling special because the boy knew my mom's name. Crazy things make me feel special.
"So how old are you?" Jim asked. "I'm eleven. I'll be starting my first year at Hogwarts."
"Us too!" I exclaimed. Maybe I could make another friend before I went to Hogwarts. Maybe I could make a friend who would be in Ravenclaw, the House I wanted to be in. I wasn't too sure about Zach. He was certainly smart enough, but I had this nagging suspicion that he'd follow the example of his favorite uncle and would end up in Slytherin. Occasionally I would toy with the idea of being in Slytherin, because their color, green, was my favorite color. It was also the color of my birthstone, emerald, which happened to be the same as my name. "What House do you think you'll be in?"
"I don't know," Jim replied. "Gryffindor or Ravenclaw, I suppose. Anything but Slytherin."
Zach's expression turned a bit sour. "What's wrong with Slytherin? I'm sure there have to be some nice Slytherins. I mean, it has to be possible for a person to be ambitious and good-natured at the same time."
Jim gave him the are-you-crazy? look, which Zach interpreted correctly. "Of course I'm crazy. You know, you're pretty observant. Most people take longer to notice."
The seats around us were beginning to fill up, and the crowd buzzed with excitement. "Sorry," someone said when they bumped into me. "Excuse me," someone else said, and I squeezed back to give them room to get by me.
When the Ireland players zoomed onto the field, we focused our Omnioculars on their Firebolts. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jim shudder.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"You know that Potter has a Firebolt?"
"Er, yeah." What did that have to do with the price of rice in China?
"Sirius Black sent it to him."
"How did you reach that conclusion?" Zach demanded, taking the words right out of my mouth.
"I just, er, know things," Jim replied.
Strange kid, I thought. Just knows things. Is he psychic or something? I had often suspected that I myself was psychic, from my quick reactions. Sometimes I had these hunches that something was going to happen, and it did.
"Join the Crazy Club," said Zach.
"Go Chaos!" I shouted, for no particular reason.
"The Chaos Club, then," Zach amended.
"Aren't you two worried? Black could have cursed that broomstick." Jim certainly seemed worried, but Zach and I, naively confident in our conclusion, were blithely unaware that we might be wrong.
"But he wouldn't have. Isn't that right, Mera?"
"Of course," I replied. "Black's innocent. Pettigrew's the guilty one."
"Crazy Club indeed," Jim muttered.
"Chaos Club," I corrected.
"Whatever."
The end of the match came as a surprise. Although Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker, caught the Snitch, Ireland won, 170 to 160.
After the match, I wandered into the nearby woods. I was immediately lost among all the trees. Deciding that I might get a better view from a higher vantage point, I levered myself up the side of one tree.
I must have dozed off, since the next thing I knew, three teenagers were walking by the tree into a clearing nearby. One of them was none other than Harry Potter himself. Intrigued, I leaned forward to get a closer look, and nearly fell out of the tree.
Off to my right, a deep voice boomed, "MORSMORDRE!" I froze, clinging to the branch for dear life.
Death, er what's mordre? I thought as the Dark Mark shot into the sky. Death mark, maybe? I'll have to check my Latin-English dictionary when I get home.
That's me. Somebody summons the Dark Mark, and my first response is to try to translate the spell he used. As I said, I'm crazy.
Carefully, cautiously, I slipped down the trunk to the ground, and ran toward the edge of the trees, which I had seen from my vantage point. I ran blindly, dodging bushes and branches, but as quickly as I could, which was very fast. I was terrified, and I ran like lightning. When I got out of the woods, Dad and Zach's family were waiting for me.
"Oh, there you are!" Dad scooped me up in a big hug. "I was so worried…."
"Zach," I hissed, "I have something to tell you."
Okay, I have revised this chapter. Yay.