A/N: NO, NO, NO! I'm not starting another multi-chapter *head banging*

Thorin wandered the King's Cross, lazily chewing his gum and staring at the shop windows. The barmy steel structure supporting the roof was old news, for the last three years he had to look at it every first of September. This year his chauffeur dropped him off too early, and Thorin was bored. Dwalin and Bofur would obviously arrive at the very last moment, Bombur would be out of breath, Bifur as usual his nose down in his iPad. Thorin stopped in front of a schedule board, and then he caught a reflection of a chick sitting at a table near the Upper Crust with a mug of coffee.

He discreetly shifted so he could see her better, the black background of the board giving him an excellent view. She was definitely around his age, maybe fifteen, but definitely not older than him. She was small, a redhead, in skinny jeans and a baggy sweater under a military jacket, colourful scarf and grandpa glasses. Her hair was a barmy mop and was sticking out from a messy bun. There was a backpack at her feet, and all and all she looked… fit. And nervous, she looked very nervous. He spit out the gum in a wrapper from his pocket, turned on his heels and approached her with a wide grin.

"Wotcher," his mentally thanked his voice for not breaking. "How are you doing?" She lifted her eyes from her mug and started blinking frantically. It was probably some sort of a nervous habit, but looked cute. He also noticed her gulp nervously.

"Hi, I'm good, thanks." She had an obvious Irish accent. She also had very sexy lips, they were bright, the bottom one plump, no make up. She nervously pushed the glasses that were slowly descending down her turn up nose back to their place.

"Do you mind if I join you? I can get myself a cuppa and sit with you. You look like you are having kittens." She looked like a kitten herself. She blinked again, it did look adorable, and tried to discreetly check the clock on the wall. He grinned wider. "I also have just twenty minutes."

"I have a train at 11." She patted a pocket on her oversized khaki jacket and fixed the glasses again.

"Ace," he quickly got himself a coffee, he didn't like it black, but he didn't want to waste time, a latte would take forever, and he plopped at the table with her. "So, what's your name?" She winced slightly, and he rushed to fix the situation, "I'm John." He always said he was John, it was easier than what usually followed if he was honest.

"I'm Wren," she apparently was OK with her name. Or not, since she blushed. That looked amazing, her cheekbones flushed up, and she fidgeted with her empty mug.

"Cool name. Are you Irish?" He realised he shifted closer to her. She smelled of lilacs, and he liked how a little curl was bobbing near her ear when she would look up at him. She was ace, so fresh and unusual, and he pushed his hand into his pocket to pull out his mobile. He needed her number.

"Yeah, but I've moved with my parents here this year. Well, I'm being sent to school, and they have moved. But my dad travels..." She trailed away and blushed harder. She grabbed her mug and tried to take a sip. He knew it was empty, and he liked her fidgeting.

"Ace. What kind of school?" She suddenly jumped on her feet.

"I'll get another cuppa for myself."

"You won't have time to drink it."

"I'll take it in a cup," she rushed to the counter, and he quietly swore. It started sterling, and now the pull was going pear-shaped. She seemed to like him though, he knew the signs, he was good with chicks. He looked her over from his table. Yeah, she was fit. He could guess the shapely arse under that sweater, long slender legs, straight back, the hair was brill. He leaned at the back of the chair, wondering what got arsed up.

She came back with a cup to go but didn't sit. She was so titchy that she was almost the same height even though he was sitting.

"Listen, John, you seem nice… And..." She stuttered and stared at the plastic lid of her cup.

"Yeah, I get it..."

"No!" Her eyes flew up to his face, and she chewed at her bottom lip. He envied her extensively, he'd like a taste too. He rarely liked chicks that much from the start, but she was so ickle, so bright, so fit… "It's not this, but I'm going to this school, and it's a boarding school. And what's the point, right?" The red on her cheeks was burning furiously, and he smiled. She was right, but somehow he didn't want to give her up so quickly.

"How about you give me your number, and we can chat or something, and then we'll see? I mean, do you have FB? Or Instagram?" She was studying his face now, her eyes wide open, pupils dilated, the colour was odd, greenish brownish, and then she nodded.

She pulled her Nexus out of the jacket pocket, and an envelop fell out. He bent down and picked it up. He saw the familiar seal, red and hastily broken, and the easily recognisable crest, with the name, and Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus written underneath it as if on a ribbon. He remembered his own very well. His father threw a party, and since then it had been kept in a glass case in his office in the Ministry. He straightened up, dumbfounded, they both stared at the envelope, and then she suddenly dove in and pressed her lips to his. Hers were better than he managed to fantasize in the last ten minutes. She tasted brilliant, and his head swam.

"I can't give you my number, but I'm very, very sorry..." She whispered into his lips, "You are such a ride..." She straightened up, a curl brushed his cheek, then she grabbed the letter and rushed away.

He looked at the clock on the wall. It was seven to 11, and he suddenly guffawed. She was certainly older than eleven, he wondered why she would even carry the letter with her. But then again the train wasn't that big, she would be easy to find. She was probably a transfer student, and he got up, wondering what house she was in. And then he noticed one mitten on the floor. He remembered the second one clenched in her hand, it was too warm for mitts, but she was overdressed altogether. The mitt was white and fluffy, and he lifted it to his eyes. It also smelled of lilacs. He started walking, his mobile vibrating in his pocket, it was surely Dwalin, but he didn't want to shake off this funny ticklish feeling. She would be on a train, and he would give her the mitt, and they would have a whole year ahead of them. He walked without thinking, his feet automatically carrying him to Platform 9¾.

So yeah, I'll just leave it here... *hissy whisper* I have another three chapters written.