"None of your business, Crocker's Misfortune," she declared in an otherwise joyous voice; a sign that Daphne Hopton's patience was wearing thin. "You tend to your posterior, now. Good boy."

Feral Child.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Plymouth Morgan!" exclaimed Daphne with red cheeks. "What are you talking about? I'm covered in butter and...I don't know what else. I stopped thinking what was proper as soon as I got on that slide with you."

If he wasn't going to do it she'd snatch his wand and do it herself!