"I've never really cared for Austen," Q admits guiltily. He's always felt there was something wrong with him because he didn't. "Though it is hard to imagine Oliver Twist or Pip tickling the ivories." He looks thoughtful. "I suppose they could have had read aloud parties. And too, music takes a lot of time. You wouldn't want to have the upstairs maid practicing when she should be dusting the wardrobes or whatever it is they did." Q takes a deep breath. "Whatever you say Severus." He bends industriously over his oranges, frowning ferociously with concentration. His professors would have recognised the look immediately. "No zest," he mutters to himself and the knife.