Ford didn't usually get Hogsmeade assignments, but the Santa Antonina rescue efforts had disrupted the typical flow of the office that morning. Not that anyone in the Spirit Division was involved in it — no one had suggested any ghostly causes for the mysterious wreck yet that he was aware of, though given how little everyone in the magical community seemed to know about spirits it was probably only a matter of time — but it had pulled resources from other departments, which had sent everything off-kilter. Someone vaguely above them in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures had gotten tagged to help with Law Enforcement in some capacity, which meant one of the more senior members of the Spirit Division was off doing that person's job instead of their fair share of field work. Not that Ford minded in the slightest. His typical tasks were London and the occasional out-of-the-way Muggle hamlets around the countryside. He didn't get to do anything that was considered high profile, which just about everything in Hogsmeade, Irvingly, or Hogwarts was, due to the close proximity of dozens of magical residents (and in the case of Irvingly, Muggles that couldn't be obliviated if things went poorly). So this was a nice change, to be working a little closer to home. Or he supposed it would be, until he'd actually glanced at the file they had on the spirit in question.

Oh, he had a bit of a record, didn't he? And today he was "menacing customers" at one of the High Street shops, whatever that meant. Ford thought living people could be a little too sensitive about things like this, because it wasn't like ghosts could hurt anyone, but it wasn't up to him whether or not this complaint had any merit; it had been flagged with high importance by the secretary, so he needed to go see if he could talk the fellow down.

On entering the shop it didn't take him long at all to find the ghost in question — they did tend to stand out in a crowd, so to speak. Even without his appearance to give him away, though, it would have been evident because of the inhumane yowl that had come from exactly his position in the shop — not from him, as Ford realized, but from a distressed cat who soon scurried away. Hm.

"Hullo," he called brightly as he wandered over, through stacks of books and around one of the larger displays. "I like your sword."

Barnaby Wye Elias Grimstone (open to cameos from customers if you like!)