"Oh, but it's such a great line! Orson Welles you know." Q deepens his voice. "'Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition: By that sin fell the angels.' Or did you mean the original," he goes on in his normal voice. "Of course they do!" Q says indignantly. "They're remarkably strong and they're hardly stupid. You just have to give them a chance."
"He's not the first and he won't be the last," Q says dryly. "It's a bit different though when he's actually in your head." Q purses his lips. "Damned if you do and damned if you don't. I didn't mean anything bad by that Severus. It's just that you're far more intelligent than the usual sort of rabble that goes in for wholesale revolution."
"Oh dear," he says regretfully. "But I thought the Blacks were all for Voldemort. Pure-blooded and all that we're-better-than-everyone-else thing. Sirius certainly seemed to think he was above the rules. Potter too." Q shakes his head. "It's a shame really. Though the Weasley's don't seem to have suffered from that. All of them had normal names." He shrugs too.
"But you are a Master Severus," Q tells him stoutly. "Like in a guild. I certainly didn't intend any disrespect." He'd rather cut out his tongue. "It's nice to be able to call you that because I want to, rather than have it forced on me." Q takes the tweezers and the bowl. "Speed, right," he nods. "Let's see...pennyroyal stimulates blood flow and," he frowns. "Antler velvet does too?" He presses his forehead, trying to remember. "But strawberry seeds are an exfoliant?" He looks at Severus and shakes his head. "I'm sorry Severus. I guess that's all I can come up with right now." He looks mournfully at the strawberries.