A/N: Hey all. Trying my hand at a plot bunny that was eating holes in my brain. Hope you like.

Disclaimer: I own nothing that you recognize… and stuff.

Chapter One – In Which There Are Arrivals

Tetra stood leaning against a pillar at Kings Cross Station watching the multitudes of people as they rushed by, caught up in the self-proclaimed importance of their own lives. One of them, a middle-aged woman, hurrying to a train, passed very closely to Tetra, a cellphone pressed tightly to her ear. She was bickering with someone on the other end over something that sounded, and probably was, inconsequential.

Tetra's eyes tracked the woman's progress across the station until she disappeared behind a pillar identical to the one the observant teenager was leaning against. Tetra was getting no few glances from the people she was studying, and it was no wonder… Goths and punks were admittedly more common in London than many other places, and as a slight mix of both, it might have been relatively easy for her to blend in with the other 'misguided youth', were it not for a certain air of saucy contentiousness that she exuded.

A group of over-confident boys encountered this attitude the hard way as they crossed her path. With sagging pants, muscle shirts, and do-rags (any newer and they'd still have been tagged and packaged), the roving teenagers were the epitome of weekend gangsters. She smirked at their idiocy; a barely perceptual twitch of lips. They were nothing but wanna-be's. She fought the strong, childish urge to roll her eyes behind her sunglasses. Anyone who became a gangster because it was 'cool' was destined to be laughed at. She watched with cold eyes as they caught sight of her and headed toward her. Their self-proclaimed leader, probably the one with the richest daddy, had the audacity to press himself into her personal space. Fighting to keep the hostility from her face she calmly arched an eyebrow in his general direction. He took it as an invitation.

"You know," he said, moving the scantest inch closer, "I saw you scamming on me." He moved closer. "It's all good girl."

Tetra was fighting down the amused chuckle that kept trying to bubble up. She wasn't sure if her amusement was due to the fact that he had thought she was checking him out, or if it was the sound of him trying to add a 'gangsta' inflection into his voice over his heavy British accent, something he'd undoubtedly picked up from an American rap cd. Either way, she couldn't stop her lips from quirking up in one corner. The British homie, who was still prattling on, took her small smile as further encouragement and eased his arm up over her head and around her shoulders, then proceeded to press the left side of his body against her.

Wrinkling her nose in disgust as his warm breath puffed over her face, she decided she'd had enough. Planting her hand in the center of his chest, she pushed firmly enough that he had to take several steps back. Looking over the tops of her glasses she gave him a look that clearly said 'back off'.

"Right then," he said, dropping the Hip Hop routine abruptly for his native British accent. "No need to go and be a bloody bitch about it, is there?" He huffed and stormed away, his silent friends following. She chose to ignore the dirty glares they all threw her way, and went back to inspecting the crowd.

She stood, her back resting comfortably against the brick structure. Her hands, all but her thumbs, were thrust into the pockets of a pair of baggy black pants, slung low on her hips, and she had a standard-issue, drab green army duffle bag slung over one shoulder. A grey, low-cut, midriff baring tank top, clung close to her curves, the words "HELL'S KITCHEN, NY" emblazoned in black across her breasts in bold black lettering that was beginning to crack and fade with age. Her eyes were unreadable, as they were hidden behind dark sunglasses. Her long hair, which was straight and brown today, with streaks of electric purple shot through it, was pulled up in a messy, half-hearted bun. She had changed it this morning out of boredom, by way of her wand, in an airport terminal bathroom. The bright streaks had been added to match her eyes; a vivid shade of lilac that made most muggles she met ask if she wore contacts. Her hair, when she left it alone, was a riot of wild, honey-brown curls, which was why she didn't 'leave it alone' that often.

And so, that morning, in an empty bathroom, she'd stood in front of the spotless, industrial sized mirror that sat atop a row of gleaming sinks, and applied numerous hair-specific cosmetic spells to pass the idle time before her flight. She hated flying… Unless of course it was on a broom. She never even got near a plane unless it was really bloody important. And of course Albus had sworn that it was of dire vitality. So here she was after a seven hour flight, watching for the one-and-only Harry Potter. Albus had asked only that she keep an eye on Potter until they reached Hogwarts, but had not been able to give her any further instructions by owl, other than to please meet him in his office after the Welcoming Feast. She understood the need for they cryptic message… the British Ministry monitored everything these days, and probably weren't above intercepting and reading private owls, especially those traveling internationally. Fudge was a paranoid bastard…

Dumbledore's ambiguous messages weren't the only things effected by Fudge's deep-seated neurosis… Her mode of transportation was also effected. She would have much preferred apparating to trusting her life to two men trained in hurtling a metal cylinder with wings across the Atlantic ocean. But because the Ministry now recorded all instances of apparation, especially those from outside the country, she had been forced to take the tin can route. Her reasoning had been both simple and practical. There were people in England, in all of Europe in fact, that she didn't want knowing she was there. Consequently, the only logical way to go had been muggle transport.

She sighed. She knew Potter's safety was important, but the Order had done well enough in that area without her assistance up till now. She didn't know what had changed, but it had better be pretty bloody drastic to have drug her over an ocean.

Sweeping the station with her eyes once more, she straightened slightly as she caught sight of a tall, lanky body, and a head of unruly black hair. It was him…

A/N: So that's that I guess. First chapter…