Ford would have been ill-suited to play nurse in any circumstances, even if he hadn't been spending half his mental energy trying not to look at either Macnair's bare torso or his bleeding arm. He'd never learned anything in the way of healing magic, and it had been long enough since Hogwarts that he wasn't even sure he'd recognize dittany when he saw it. Also: was that the sort of thing people just carried around with them? Presumably so, if Macnair thought he might, but it seemed strange to Ford. He was fairly certain Noble had dittany in his workshop somewhere, but there was a difference between keeping it in stock in a workshop and carrying it in your breast pocket.

As he fished the pouch out of the pocket Macnair had indicated he wondered idly if he ought to suggest Noble's workshop. Ford would literally rather die than invite Macnair into his home in this state, much less explain to any of his family members what had happened, but he wouldn't rather Macnair die if it came down to that. But he was being melodramatic — Macnair wasn't going to die from a cut on his arm, even if it was bleeding a rather frightful amount. Besides, how would they even get there? The Greengrass home was only a few blocks away, but Macnair wasn't going to walk there half-dressed and bleeding, and it wasn't as though he'd be keen to let Ford apparate him to their garden.

At least he didn't have to be touching Macnair while he groped around for this dittany. He was pointedly not looking at him, too, which was the only way he was surviving this interaction. "Is this it?" he asked, holding out the first vial he'd found and looking at Macnair's shoulder rather than his eyes (still not ideal, but there weren't a wealth of options that allowed him to sort-of look at Macnair without really looking at him).

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