Julien & Blaise
Julien had discovered one very important thing in the last three days: he did not like bugs. He especially didn't like giant, flesh-eating slugs that did not taste like chicken no matter how they were grilled. He liked the idea of wearing clothing made of their hides even less, though possibly not as much as Everett hated the idea of using the hides to make clothes. That was almost enough to make him grin a little. Still, it was all better than getting eaten by something, so Julien would suffer through the dirt and slugs and indignity of the accommodations and get on with things.
He was taking his cue from his father on that one, who despite being just as out of depth as the rest of them was doing a bang-up job of organizing them and keeping them on track. If his father could deal without having his luxuries available, Julien could too. Besides, some of them had to be practical about surviving, rather than complaining about the dirt and clothes and food. Julien had decided to do most of his complaining in his head. Except, of course, when he thought about Quidditch. He should have been preparing for the match against Lithuania, which actually mattered, not learning cleaning spells in an effort to clear away centuries of filth.
"You know, if we ever get back from this, Fawcett is going to kill Potter and me for disappearing before the Lithuania game. The giant slugs are almost preferable," he said to the nearest person, who just happened to be his father. "Qualifying match was tomorrow. Not even a friendly."