Harry was much more confident using the polyjuice to walk the Alley streets. Before, there was a constant fear of discovery; he'd even come up with stories that he could tell an overly-curious random passerby.
'Potions accident, terrible tragedy; never forget the wormswart, and always counter-clockwise.' - First story.
'Accidental magic gone wrong; I really thought I could be a dragon one day.' - Second story.
'A hex; but don't you worry, they'll get theirs, once I grow my fingers back.' - Third.
'Would you believe it was a new pranking product? Yeah, from Zonkos; at first I was mad, now I just want to get revenge.' - Fourth.
Lies worked best with a sprinkle of sincerity, personality, lots of details, and a dash of embarrassment. But this was a double-edged sword as rambling was a liar's downfall.
Nonetheless, Harry was happy to blend into the crowd. No attention grabbing appearance, no famous scar-- just a boy and his Aunt, shopping at Diagon Alley.
His appearance was especially important to uphold, seeing as his wand choice would be immediately reported to Dumbledore. Thus, his insistance on acquiring the potion beforehand. Harry had longed for anonymity and invisibility.
'Wait for me, my darling!' Harry projected his thoughts to his family invisibility cloak. Christmas couldn't come soon enough!
Walking into Ollivander's, Harry lead his Aunt to the side. She frowned upon seeing the little shop, the peeling gold paint and layers of dust.
"It's just the same! It's exactly the same! But worse!" She whispered in a horrified voice to Harry; to Aunt Petunia, there was nothing worse than dust, dirt, and disrepair. Aunt Petunia kept a clean house, bleached and sparkling; to her, this shop would be like dining at the local trash heap.
Harry hated to think what she would say if she saw Grimmauld Place. He shuddered internally.
"Mister Po---" came an old whithered voice, Ollivander himself coming around the corner quietly.
Petunia jumped; Harry just stared blankly.
Silver eyes roved over Harry's form, searching for details as a frown furrowed his brow.
"Mister... Potter," he began hesitantly.
"Yes," Harry agreed calmly, nodding once in assent.
"He's here for a wand, the same as his mother," Petunia interjected, placing a creme silk kid-gloved hand on his shoulder.
"Ah, yes," Ollivander agreed, still looking confused but struggling for control. "Miss Evans, yes, I sold her her very first wand, your father as well; and his father, and mother..."
He trailed off, gaze distant and lost.
"Mr. Ollivander," Harry said in a loud, firm voice.
Ollivander startled a bit, blinking slowly, as though sleepy.
"Yes, your first wand," he agreed, moving back to rummage through shelves and setting down several boxes of wands, before retreating to gather more.
Petunia looked at Harry curiously, but he could only shrug.
"Probably unrelated," he lied smoothly.
Petunia looked doubtful, squaring her shoulders and standing tall. She snorted quietly.
"An unlikely coincidence."
Harry pulled wands from their boxes on the table, several at a time, fitting one through the space between each finger. Clenching his fingers closed, he weilded the extended wands like claws, waving his arms around in arcs like an airplane and spinning.
"Whee!" He cried, flapping joyfully.
The resulting sparks, explosions, static, and wind force created quite a storm in the entryway.
Petunia screamed.
"Young man, stop that cauterwalling right this instant!" She shouted over the noise; several wands had began to create a sort of whistling screech like a tea kettle.
"But I was having--"
Harry went silent and still as quickly as though a bucket of water had been poured over them.
The door to the shop burst open, and they were no longer alone.
Albus Dumbledore stood in the doorway to the shop, looking windswept and looming large in robes of various shades of lemon and canary yellow.
"Mrs. Dursley, Mister Potter," Albus panted, nodding at them both in turn.
Petunia tensed, her hand seeking Harry's and finding his sleeve. The old wizards' tone did not sound promising.
"Can we help you, Headmaster?" Petunia asked softly, swallowing past the lump of fear lodged in her throat.
But Harry couldn't hear his reply, not at first. The blood was rushing quickly to his head, roaring in his ears. He felt hot, cold, all at once, and suddenly very tired.
"There's been an accident," Dumbledore told them, and Petunia screamed.
Harry felt himself being tugged into Petunia's bony arms, face pale. Wands clattered with the hollow sound of wood on stone, falling forgotten from his fingers with no warning. His back felt cold and his head felt hot. Lights flashed from the ends of the wands, but they were forgotten and ignored.
"Mrs. Dursley, I must warn you first, that at this time there is nothing further we can do," Dumbledore was saying, distantly. His voice sounded far, far away to Harry, almost as though he was speaking underwater.
"I am here to offer you my support and to take you to your family," he continued. "Your husband got the worst of it, and we fear he may not survive. Your son, Dudley, was wearing his lap belt, however, and his condition is stable."
Petunia let out a small sob, but Harry couldn't hear anything anymore. No noises penetrated past the buzzing in his head.
"I was just getting my wand," he whispered hoarsely, lips numb and tongue sticking dryly in his mouth. "This... this wasn't supposed to happen... this has never... I don't..."
Petunia's cries rang through the Alley, and Dumbledore could do little to quiet her. After explaining it several times, he side-apparated them both to Hogsmeade, near the gates, just before Hogwarts grounds.
Harry stumbled backwards, unable to catch himself. Petunia reached for him, but he slumped to the side, hitting his head and knew no more, blacking out into a world of fog and smoke.
He was so very tired.
Tragedy and Explanations: Part 1 of 2