He rolls his eyes again at her teasing and tries to casually pinch the bridge of his nose to alleviate the headache without letting her see what he's doing. Then he nods.

"That house we were in when Cedric-" he makes a little strangled noise and then pantomimes slitting his own throat, as if he was trying to just make a euphemism for 'died' rather than letting himself get choked up. "It had children's books on the shelves. So let's find us a backpack and get the stuff you stole from the fridge."

He takes a sip of water from his bottle. The parched, dry, fuzzy feeling in his mouth and throat is almost instantly tamped down, but the urge to just chug the whole bottle is persuasive. He only barely manages enough self-control to put the cap back on. "Then we hide the backpack and find the others."

Because like hell are they sharing this.