13. Waiting

Harry felt the weight of the Philosopher's Stone in his jacket pocket. The elderly creator of the stone had given him permission to keep it after Harry had explained what he wanted to use it for. It had brought a good natured chuckle to the wizard.

Telling him the purpose had been embarrassing to say the least, but at least the man had been sympathetic to his cause. Dumbledore had been equally trusting in Harry's pure intentions for the stone, though he hadn't been given the circumstances. Though both wizards had been clear on stressing that he should not share the information of his ownership of the stone to any individual.

For their part in discovering Voldemort, the trio of friends had been rewarded house points. It had made Gryffindor the runner up for the house cup. Slytherin had once again came up on top. Despite his housemates grumbling, he wasn't too disheartened by the loss of the house cup. With all the magical wonders abound, he didn't have much investment in the cup.

Harry got out of the Hogwarts Express, his bags in hand. He, Ron, and Hermione said their goodbyes as the two went with their respective families. Poor Harry wasn't as fortunate, he had no idea when the Dursleys would deem it necessary to pick him up.

On the edge of the train station, the slim boy sat on his luggage. Looking up in the sky, he noticed that it was getting late. Already he had been waiting hours. Shaking his head, he continued with the task at hand. On his lap sat the stone, in his hands were flat chisels and a hammer.

With great care, he chipped the sharp points of the stone as he molded it into a new shape. It took a lot of concentration and attention that a child his age was not expected to have. Harry couldn't wait to gift the end results to the Pale Lady.

If one were to walk by the evening tinted train station, they would be welcomed by the soft, but sharp sound of chipping stone. So absorbed by his work, Harry did not realize that he was no longer alone.

Only when the setting sun had cast a shadow upon his form, blocking his sight from his work, did Harry notice his company. Turning to his side, he saw a bear of a man. The Raggedy Man had a thick beard and unkempt hair that was Weasley red. Harry recognized his garb as one of the Red Coats he learned about in British History, although it was far more tattered than any photo he had seen. The Raggedy Man wore no shoes and his pants was riddled by mismatched patches.

Like Harry, the man was content to work on his art. In the man's case, he was painting an indifferent portrait of the landscape before the train station. Distant but telling, Harry found himself getting lost within the painting. It was odd, for a lack of a term.

"Sir, are you an artist?" Harry asked. If so, he could ask for tips on his work.

The Raggedy Man turned to him and probed him. Satisfied, he said, "No. I draw to understand. I fear I've learned little."

Harry didn't understand what he meant, but he really liked the painting. "Sir, can I have that? If you don't want it, that is."

A look of incomprehension appeared on the man's countenance, as though those words were alien to him. Looking at the young lad a bit longer, he nodded. "If you desire it, you may have it."

Harry wasn't sure, but believed he heard hints of excitement and pride within the Raggedy Man's voice. Happily, he took the portrait of the darkening English city. Pondering only for a moment, he dug into his luggage department and pulled out some snacks and a few coins he had on him. Placing them in the man's hands, he said, "In return, you can have some snacks to carry you over and some money to buy a proper meal."

The Raggedy Man smiled in return. Before any further discussions could take place, a loud horn beeped at them. Turning around, he saw his uncle looking angry at the wait. Harry collected his things and waved the man goodbye.

"Bloody time you showed up, freak. You should be grateful I came all the way down here. You have some nerve to make me waste gas so you can take your time. Pull this again and you walk back to the house, got it?"

"Yes, Uncle Vernon", Harry mumbled as he finally got into the car. As they drove away, he noticed that the Raggedy Man was gone. Not a bit bothered, he looked at his wonderful drawing. Maybe the Pale Lady would like to have drawings like this.