Tearful, Dumbledore sat on a stone like a grieving child, his entire body radiating dejection.
If outsiders saw Albus Dumbledore, a living legend with countless great achievements, in such a state, they would not know how astonished to be.
Amosta, however, remained calm and expressionless, even though Dumbledore had nearly gotten him killed just moments ago.
Some regrets could haunt a person for a lifetime.
Amosta knew of Dumbledore's past, so he was not surprised by the weakness Dumbledore was displaying now.
With a flick of his wand, a low three-legged stool and a small wooden table pressed down the overgrown weeds. Amosta slowly took a seat.
The cork popped from an old bottle on the table. The wine that streamed into the crystal glasses reflected the moonlight, its aroma spreading through the air.
"This is Firewhisky from Aberforth's place—"
Dumbledore twitched his crooked nose.
"That's right—"
Amosta nodded.
"We need something strong to warm ourselves up."
As he spoke, he took a sip of the crimson liquor. Its spicy, mellow taste drew a satisfied sigh from him.
Dumbledore silently lifted his glass and took a sip as well.
"I think I should apologize to you, Amosta. I nearly ruined everything."
Dumbledore muttered indistinctly.
"I accept your apology."
Amosta said.
His powerful magic had granted Amosta a body far stronger than that of an ordinary person, but the increasingly biting wind still made even him, who was usually unaffected by heat or cold, feel somewhat uncomfortable.
He had no desire to talk. He simply sipped his drink again and again as he watched the ruined Gaunt Shack.
The Slytherin family bloodline still endured in the wizarding world, but Salazar Slytherin's own lineage was about to die out after a thousand years.
"Don't you need me to explain anything, Amosta?"
Dumbledore