"Great!" Q says with relief. "And I didn't mean to press you into service as a music critic, I meant that you could see how my playing might relate to stirring and such and how I might need to alter things." A fragment of a memory flashes through his mind and he blushes. "Though of course I hope you enjoy it."
"Certainly Severus," he says, still glum. He moves his wand in a circle and the peels, pulp and seeds gather into a pile. Q dispatches them to the bin in the corner. The juice has run down one side of the table and Q sighs at his lapse. "Scourgify!" He mutters intensely, jabbing his wand at the offending mess. The juice vanishes, as does the first layer of paint from the table. "Oh murder!" Q squeaks. He peeks anxiously at Severus. "Don't know my own strength," he says weakly.