Draco's eyes slated and a remark was on the tip of his tongue, but he again withheld it because it was Theo, rather than some asinine Gryffindor trying to show him the ropes. He'd stalked off after Potter had tried to show him his room, determined to make it on his own rather than need Potter's help. Merlin, were all Potters the same and just as much of blithering idiots?
He clenched a fist at his side, knuckles turning white for a moment, before Draco nodded in his agreement. "Bloody hell," he murmured quietly, taking in a breath to steady himself. "What sort of place is this, then? It makes cook your own bloody food. Honestly. And according to Potter, money does nothing here. I would hire someone to make my meals if it did." He wanted to tell Theo that he hated being helpless, that it went against everything that he knew and was trained to do, but Draco bit his tongue. Not out here at least. He did follow his friend to the kitchen, looking away a moment as his stomach rumbled with hunger. The headache wasn't helping, either, as Draco pinched his nose.
"Tell me we have potion ingredients here, at the very least. I have a few things on me, but not a whole shop like I'm used to."