He'd pushed hard enough, it seemed, because Darrow was really losing it now. As he turned around, Ford felt a simultaneous flicker of satisfaction at having guessed at the right thing to say and trepidation over whatever Darrow might do next. All he'd known was that he wanted to do whatever he could to prevent Darrow from making his potion, but he hadn't actually thought through what the alternatives might have been. Was he going to pull his wand again? Hit him?

Neither of those things, it seemed, at least for the moment. Ford felt a slight rush of adrenaline as he heard Darrow stutter, and he decided to push farther.

"You don't look sick," he goaded. Not physically sick, anyway.