Amosta gave Dumbledore a long look. Behind his lowered lids, the wariness in his eyes deepened.
"Let's go in—"
Amosta said, and Dumbledore nodded.
Pushing aside several nettles blocking the half-hanging door, Amosta stepped ahead into the cobweb-ridden house.
The profound darkness shrouding the house was impervious even to moonlight. The moment Amosta stepped inside, his figure was swallowed up.
The air, thick with the smell of earth and rotting plants, carried a faintly oppressive tension.
Amosta remained calm. He stopped where the Entrance Hall ought to have been and surveyed everything.
Several of the supporting walls inside had already collapsed, and weeds ran rampant amid the rubble.
A rafter had fallen from the roof, one end braced crookedly against the ground while the other barely supported the weight of the entire house.
The wine rack dividing the kitchen from the dining room, along with a long table in the dining room, had become a chaotic heap of splintered wood. The chandelier that had once hung from the living room ceiling had also crashed down, smashing a large hole into the rotten floorboards.
Amosta and Dumbledore, who had entered after him, both fixed their eyes on half a wall standing stubbornly to their front right, its surface overrun with mold.
The darkness there seemed even denser. The glow from their wands dimmed when it shone into that area, as if it were being swallowed.
"Which Horcrux do you think we'll encounter, Headmaster Dumbledore?"
Amosta asked softly, casting him what appeared to be a casual sideways glance.
After a brief silence, Dumbledore's voice was somewhat hoarse.
"Based on the information we currently possess, it is highly likely to be the Horcrux of Tom's that we have yet to destroy—the ring Tom obtained from his uncle, the one we showed each other—"