Fictional potions and real-life consent

Trigger warning: examples of rape apologism and discussion of what, within the Harry Potter universe, is basically a date rape drug. (Although it's obviously a fictional universe, it raises issues that do pertain to the real world. So I just wanted to include a word of caution if that might remind anyone of real-life trauma.)

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Today I was thinking of the whole concept of love potion within the Harry Potter world and how many issues it brings up. What would happen if somebody slipped it to a person who was already in love with them? Would it cancel itself out and cause that love to disappear? Would it make no difference? Or would it just add a desperate, miserable element to the feeling that was already there? Also, would it work if given to someone who wasn't attracted to your gender? And if so, would anti-gay wizards exploit that in order to promote "ex-gay" therapy?

I wonder all those things about the concept of a love potion, as well as the way it would undermine the foundation of consent. J. K. Rowling recognized that factor, which was why it was always presented as a very harmful and destructive potion. She emphasized that it didn't really create love, as genuine love can't be replicated or artificially formed. Whenever a character drugged someone with it, it induced a desperate, unhappy, and insatiable obsession. I imagine that it was probably a heavily contested substance within the Harry Potter world. Whoever marketed it would probably argue that it didn't compromise your agency because you were consenting while under its influence. Those who sought to outlaw its sale would reply that you weren't acting of your own volition, since it altered your mental state and you didn't even agree to take it—it was always slipped into your food or drink, specifically because the person knew you wouldn't otherwise be interested. The marketers (and probably the wizarding community's version of gross, predatory pick-up artists) would disingenuously respond that nobody really consents to falling in love, anyway—that your own brain chemicals basically impose it on you. Protesters would rightly argue that at least the natural process isn't instigated by an outside source who is deliberately acting against your will.
            I was telling Mike about this and he felt the same way. Then he said, "See, this is why you were never invited to Hogwarts. Because you'd go in and start pointing out all the problems with their social norms."

Our Creations, Ourselves

What we create is often an extension of ourselves, so destroying a person's work could be seen almost as an act of violence against them. This raises some odd questions, like does it count as a form of symbolic cannibalism to eat a meal that somebody else cooked? (Not that this should ever stop someone from eating. It's just food for thought.) This isn't meant to say that property is on par with life, or that nothing that's been built should ever be dismantled. But where do we end and our creations begin? I think this is worth examining. Some people take the concept too far in viewing their children, the people they've formed, as a part of themselves to a point where they don't want their kids to have free will. Others define their own value completely by what they've made, which can lead them to feel worthless if they're unhappy with a project. There has to be a middle ground in which we value our creations but are able to separate ourselves from them to a certain degree and say, "This may be an extension of me, but it doesn't encompass me." And in turn, we apply the same standards to others.