February 3rd, 1895 — Ministry of Magic Offices
Spirit Division

Bright and early. It was how Persephone Broadmoor had always preferred to conduct her business where possible; what was the point, after all, in waiting around? She had even managed to call in a favours to make an appointment, not something a woman of her position in the world typically garnered in the Spirit Division. It was not something the witch had wanted to risk... alerting the Ministry of Magic to, but it had been more than a month since she had last seen Thomasin—more than a month since the failed attempt to replace her friend's spirit into a physical body, and Persy begrudgingly admitted that she needed...

Not help. Almost never help. Information.

She had borrowed some papers of her father's the night before, that she would have a splendid excuse for her mother, and departed for the Ministry of Magic offices. Her first stop saw Persephone, indeed, deliver the papers to a secretary in the auror office before returning herself once more to the lift and descending to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. 

"I thank you for taking the time to see me," Persy remarked primly once settled into a meeting room in the Spirit Division. Just because she often chose to put up a more brusque face did not mean she lacked the skills and knowledge to be polite when the situation warranted it.

Invitational to one of:
Desiderius Morgan Fortitude Greengrass Sapphire Weasley
or any Spirit Div employee!

  

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do you know what happened that night?

— mj makes glorious sets! —

Most people didn't make appointments with the Spirit Division. Most people merely filed complaints. Occasionally they did so loudly and spontaneously and in person. Scheduled appointments were usually reserved for people who worked with spirits much more regularly, or who had reason to care about their wellbeing. Winnifred Fudge came in occasionally to ask about the legality of something she and her husband were trying to do, for example. Mrs. Daphnel had been in thrice to ask about measures that could be taken to make her son more "comfortable", the definition of which Ford had still never successfully discerned from her. Regardless, appointments were usually reserved for people who were known to the division already. Ford wasn't aware of a Miss Broadmoor, so he had no idea precisely what any of this was about.

It would have been fine on another day, but his caseload had been stacked up over the weekend and he'd yet to make much progress on it. He was hoping whatever this was could be handled swiftly.

"Of course," he agreed, as though he'd had any choice in the matter. The secretary had simply added it to his desk calendar for the day. "Was your appointment today regarding a specific spirit?"

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Set by Lady!

She had considered carefully how she would approach the matter. As Persy saw it, she had really had two potential courses of action: the academic approach or the more personal. The former, she knew, would likely evade suspicion. The latter was a riskier move, by her estimation, but would likely yield more specific results.

Persephone Broadmoor had never been a woman to shy away from risks, had arrived fully planning to ask about Thomasin specifically, opened her mouth to do just that—

And faltered.

Was her boldness not the reason she was in this predicament?

"I was wondering, Mr. Greengrass, if there was any paritcular cause that would drive a spirit from his or her typical haunts," Persy inquired instead. Merlin, how was she supposed to fix Thomasin if she couldn't even help her? "For—well, I am... writing a book. An academic text," she added, almost sharply, unwilling to be seen as frivolous even within her own flimsy excuse.

Fortitude Greengrass

  

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do you know what happened that night?

— mj makes glorious sets! —

Ford's eyes flashed briefly with exasperation before he covered it with his polite customer service mask. (This expression was as standard-issue in the ranks of Ministry workers as their uniform robes. Ford's, unfortunately, had several defects; he always applied it half a second too late, it was a little too thin to fully mask what he was feeling, and he tended to discard it too soon when he was truly frustrated by someone). She was writing a book. That meant that whatever she wanted from him would not be resolved swiftly, and he could forget about making any progress on his caseload for the next forty minutes while he tried to answer whatever meandering, poorly researched questions popped into her head. Her opening question didn't give him much confidence that she was very well informed on the subject of spirits, regardless of the academic nature of her work. Maybe this was to be expected — she hadn't said the academic text was primarily about spirits, and for most people who weren't in his division it was a niche knowledge area.

"That's a Muggle myth," he told her, superficially pleasantly. "Spirits aren't confined to any given areas unless they've been magically restricted. They have haunts the same way you or I do — just habits and routines they tend to stick to."

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Set by Lady!