Ford had earned an OWL for herbology, but only just. He wasn't going to be a good deal of help spotting ingredients, particularly not with his hands still bound in front of him. It wasn't really about helping Darrow, though. It was about keeping Darrow talking, and trying to find clues. Asphodel, boomslang skin. These meant nothing to Ford, but if he could get through this alive they might mean something to Noble. If Darrow was going to make him drink a potion and he wasn't going to tell him what it was, at least Ford could remember some of the ingredients, the steps it took to brew, the scent and the color when it was ready. That would be enough for Noble to figure it out, wouldn't it? And if Noble could figure it out, he could tell Ford what to do about it — despite all Darrow's assurances, he doubted he was going to be alright with whatever the side effects were.

It was getting harder and harder to imagine what they might be, too, the more Darrow spoke. Nothing that would hurt him, nothing that would affect his daily life, but something that would protect Darrow. What the hell did that mean? The first thought that came to mind — the only thought that came to mind, really — was that it might have something to do with the relationship between the two of them — something that might engender attachment to Darrow, or something of the sort, so that Ford wouldn't want to turn him in.

He stopped walking abruptly, and a flash of panic went through him. He had to stop this.

"Don't," he said quickly, as Darrow reached for another jar of something. He hadn't come up with a reason yet, so was scrambling to think. He seized on something he’d already considered before: "If it's obvious you've been stealing things they're going to blame me. Because I was supposed to be here," he said quickly. He didn't know that Darrow would care, so this wasn't the ideal strategy, but it was the only one he had at the moment. "Don't take too much. You'll make it too obvious. I don't want to get arrested."