"No."
Mafalda whipped around, her long hair almost smacking him in the face. She was surprised to see him so close to her.
"Excuse me?" She scoffed.
"You walk around this office with your nose down at people," Dennis started, gaining stride and volume as his words progressed, "barking orders about, like a bloody dictator. But I see you, Madame Hopkirk. I see the way you look at me when you think no one is looking. You've tried to overcompensate, but I know you feel this." He waved his wand, and he office door closed, the lock sliding firmly in place. "I dare you to lie to me," he whispered, nose to nose with her, and she was struck by how blue his eyes were.
"It's not proper," she stated breathlessly, a warm sensation spreading in her stomach, her arms pushing him away though he could obviously see the gooseflesh his words had elicited. "I'm at least twenty years older than you, Mr. Creevy."
Dennis laughed darkly, "You're the Head of the Improper Use of Magic office, love. You deal with less than polite situations on a daily basis," his finger trailed across her bottom lip, and she sighed, cursing herself for feeling this way, but giving in nonetheless.
"Now tell me," he said slowly, a smirk on his face as his hand running across the mahogany desk she had leant against in her initial desire to escape him, "Is it alright if I bend you over this desk? Or would you say it's 'improper'?"