He probably ought to have been offended that Lestrange would assume he was as ill suited to his new occupation as he actually was but he couldn't blame him, it was hardly an obvious 'career' choice. "Whatever gave you tha' impression?" One corner of his mouth curled upward in a sardonic half-smile. "Bet I'm a better cook than you n' all, even if I never did cook a thing my whole life before this mornin'." That was also a likely insult although he hadn't actually meant it to be. It seemed unlikely Lestrange had ever had to rely on his own two hands to have a hot dinner in his belly, the most Spryly had ever done was crudely spit roast something on a stick. Normally he would have a cold meal if he couldn't scavenge a hot one from somewhere or someone. His old man had tried to trust him with preparing dinner once but he'd started a small fire before he'd even gotten to the cooking stage and that was the last time he'd been let near a stove. Being a broommaker he couldn't risk a fire and the risk of trying to teach Spryly how to prepare a hot meal far outweighed the potential reward.

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