A/N: Here we go! Since "Stealing Thorin's Thunder" has only two more chapters left, they are pretty much written and the story has sadly arrived to its conclusion, kkolmakov is setting on a new journey! Teen drama! Don't know why my barmy mind went here, but what can you do? :D

This chapter's first half was a teaser in "We Are Scattered through Time and Space" but don't miss the second half!

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.

It took a jolly load to get rid of all hello'ers and wotcher's and finally launch to find her. He had seen most of his friends two weeks before, they had spent a weekend in his country house, his father allowing them to "recuperate before school year" as he liked to call it, without much supervision. The "recuperation" involved brew and skinny dipping, strictly guest list.

And still it took a while to start walking through the train. Dwalin and Gloin followed him, by now he felt almost uncomfortable without their presence behind his back, while Bofur, Bombur and Bifur stayed, their roaring laughter over Bifur's successes in Minecraft was probably heard in all carriages. He walked by the compartments, his eyes quickly scanning each, while he kept his face aloof and his chin up, when he saw her.

She wasn't in a compartment, she was talking to someone in the corridor. That someone turned out to be Bilbo Baggins, he was in the same year as Thorin, and surprisingly in Gryffindor, which was rubbish, because he was as brave as a bloody mouse.

Baggins's face was red from awkwardness, he was after all a boffin and was talking to a person with a fanny, but she had a sincere smile on her face, and then Thorin saw her pat the shortie's shoulder. That didn't feel good, and Thorin noted to himself that Gryffindor just lost five points. Baggins slightly jumped up and Thorin could wager his new broom the shortie's nose was probably twitching like a rabbit's in his usual clodish habit.

"Hey, Baggins, why don't you set the girl free?" Gloin's nasal voice came from around Thorin's shoulder. "She is in anticipation to escape your company, I reckon." Baggins swirled on his heels, but Thorin wasn't looking at his face. His eyes met her odd slanted eyes, and he saw she was cheesed off.

"She can speak for herself, and she tells you to sod off," her accent was stronger when she was pissed off. That wasn't going well.

"You have to forgive my friend here," Thorin stepped between two gingers their eyes locked in a death stare contest. "He had too much coffee this morning."

"That seems to be happening every morning," Baggins grumbled, and Thorin stepped to him wrapping his arm around the shortie's thin neck and pulling him into himself.

"Common, mate, we were just taking a piss. A bloke to a bloke..." Baggins weakly tried to jerk out of Thorin's grip but again he was more than a head shorter and couldn't be called hench, mildly speaking.

"Hey, Durinson, why don't you take your royal arse elsewhere?" Thorin knew this voice and was far from chuffed to hear it. Thea Martin, the curvaceous, mouth watering Thea Martin, with her rad tits and glorious arse, who had been playing hard-to-get with him for the last two years was standing in the open door of the next compartment. She shook her long chestnut waves over her shoulder, and her eyes dropped on the redhead.

"Hey you, Leary right? Come sit with us. And Baggins, you still haven't shown me that book you mentioned." She was tapping her foot in a high heeled pump, her fists on her round hips, and Thorin released Baggins who stepped back rubbing his neck. Seriously, it wasn't that tight, way to overact, plonker.

Auggie Anderson, Gryffindor's Quidditch captain stuck his daft head out of the same compartment, and Thorin saw the prick's eyes scan the aggro happening in the corridor. And then they fell on the redhead's perky bum. Thorin gritted his teeth, it was all getting botched up.

"Wotcher, boys," the usual wide grin spread on Anderson's face and then his eyes met the redhead's green ones, "Hi! I'm Auggie." She just had to smile back!

"Wren," her voice was soft and chummy, and Thorin stepped ahead. He fished her mit out of his robe's pocket and stretched his hand to her.

"You dropped it at the station, Wren," he made sure to sound as purry as possible. Chicks wouldn't shut their gobs about how his voice was ace. She turned to him, and he had to admit to himself she apparently didn't share the opinion, judging by narrowed eyes and stubbornly set jaw. She took the mit and threw a "ta" to him under her breath.

She then smiled to Baggins, and they all disappeared in the compartment. Thea Martin went in last, throwing him a pointed glare over her shoulder. Considering that his little ginger was left in a compartment with a shortie, him and his mates used to torment the first three years, until they grew bored of it, a chick he had been trying to get his leg over since she turned from a chubby chops with braids into a totty, and August Anderson whose nose he broke last year after the two of them decided that it was easier to resolve their differences behind Professor Sprout's greenhouse instead of barking at each other during classes, it was becoming quite obvious he'd have to work really hard if he wanted to bonk Wren Leary. More so, he could already see Gryffindor-ish daft indignation brewing in her eyes. As a transfer she'd be sorted once they arrived to school, and he could already imagine her in a red and golden tie. Anyroad, it would make it even more fun to take it off her and add it to his collection.