He studied her after she claimed to be up to his standards for a longer than necessary time before he narrowed his gaze at her. She was going to make his life a living hell; not that his life wasn't already such. But to compound the insult by tossing this in his lap?

"Like I said, Jones, don't fuck up. Now," he gave a wave of his wand towards his own cubicle, a stack of files merrily jaunting on over, "we're up to our necks in files; in particular looking to find a way to nail a bloke, Eustace Cornell - a.k.a. Tomas Leery or Robert Berk - for an alleged use of a potion. The Hit Wizard department started the case, but he made his mistake of ending up in our laps when he allegedly pulled his wand on a hag deep in Knockturn and used Cruciatus. Since then, Mckindson and Pearson," he named off the two Field Agents, "have tracked him across London and into Wales. He's gotten good at alluding them. There are," he opened a file and stuck it in Hestia's face, "some indications that the man may be affiliated with the Da-," he swallowed his words before he could speak them all, "with He Who Must Not Be Named and we are to find out every last detail we can about him before they bring him in."

He paused and cocked a brow at her.

"Think you can handle yourself?"