"The wiser move would be to buy both," Professor McGonagall said, "After all, neither is going to react nearly as well to any other wizard."
Harry's face fell, just a bit, at the thought that he had to buy the weird wand with the phoenix feather in it. Not that he particularly wanted to deprive this batty old thing of his fair wages for his craft. Thinking of that, more than the scar that he was beginning to hate (He'd always liked it before, it looked impressive with his hair slicked back, and the jagged thing was a fitting pair to his jagged smile. Quite threatening, indeed), he nodded. "Alright, I'll pay for it too."
"That will be fifty galleons," Ollivander said, and Professor McGonagall stirred beside Harry. Ollivander smiled apologetically, "The rare wands always cost more, because of the difficulty of crafting them."
"Still! Fifty galleons!" Professor McGonagall said, looking stern. Harry was glad that he'd grabbed a few gold coins for his sleeves* when he'd had the chance.
They paid, and after the door to Ollivader's had shut, Professor McGonagall said sternly, "You are just full of surprises, young man." Harry'd have smiled if he wasn't shot through with concern about ... Why, he could just ask. He should just ask, she was a teacher, and teachers always liked to answer questions.
"What did he mean about the man who gave me this scar? What was he like?" Harry asked, wondering if this guy was some sort of hitman - or an assassin, or a crimeboss. Harry smirked inwardly at himself. He was being ridiculous, there was no way he was that important. A thread of doubt twisted through his head, If so, why did everyone want his signature?**
Professor McGonagall looked up in the air, and then whirled around, before saying lowly, "Not here."
Many children would worry at a statement like that. Not Harry. Harry's heart leaped. He was going to learn something interesting. Something important. Something, maybe even, a bit scary?
Professor McGonagall started to walk quicker, as if worried that Harry Potter would start asking more questions. But Harry'd heard her promise to explain, and was quite content to wait until she could explain.
She went back to the entrance, to the innkeep's tavern, and said hurriedly, "May we have a room, Tom, just for the hour?"
Not too far away, there was a dark-eyed man with inky eyes who stared disapprovingly down his long nose at the Professor and Harry. Harry felt his jaw jut forward. What right did that man have to judge us like that? He didn't even know if it was mutual or not!
*ledgerdemain.
**Professor McGonagall didn't have the whole "car crash" thing. We'll pretend I wrote that she said "Your parents died fighting during the War." at some point, I suppose, until I go back and fix it.
[a/n: Snape, of course, does have his reasons. Harry is expressing the folly of the young, who think they're much better at taking care of themselves than they actually are. Like most wise elders, I do realize that a sexual relationship between a 40+ year old woman and an eleven year old is inappropriate at all speeds, 'mutual' or not.
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Harry, of course, has seen the seedier side of life. Not that he's actually run into gigolos (they're rare in England), but even Harry knows the meaning of "get a room for an hour."]