"Maybe something he ate?" Q smiles slightly. "He certainly did get sidetracked." He purses his lips. "And all that beheading. Elizabeth Taylor just divorced all of her husbands."
"Oh dear. I'm sorry to hear that. So his father raised him?"
Q snorts. "Isn't that always the way with parents. Start thinking for yourself and you're persona non grata. Poor Percy." He gives a little shake of his head. "Of course."Q had always been secretly pleased and rather envious of the Weasley twins audacious behaviour.
"Efficacious as a potion perhaps, but that isn't love," Q protests. "It's just obsession. You can feel the same why about chocolate." He frowns. "How do you know so much about him?" Q, whose own especial hell would be a place with no books where Celestina Warbeck music plays for all eternity clears his throat self-consciously. I took my troubles down to Madame Ruth You know that gypsy with the gold-capped tooth She's got a pad down on Thirty-Fourth and Vine Sellin' little bottles of Love Potion Number Nine
I told her that I was a flop with chicks I've been this way since 1956 She looked at my palm and she made a magic sign She said "What you need is Love Potion Number Nine" She bent down and turned around and gave me a wink She said "I'm gonna make it up right here in the sink" It smelled like turpentine, it looked like Indian ink I held my nose, I closed my eyes, I took a drink I didn't know if it was day or night I started kissin' everything in sight But when I kissed a cop down on Thirty-Fourth and Vine He broke my little bottle of Love Potion Number Nine
"Obviously written by muggles who haven't a clue about potions," Q says offhand, expecting scorn. "But it's got a nifty little guitar riff and I quite like it." He bends industriously to his strawberries again, face flushed.