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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