"We could, but with our luck it'd be buried in a wall and the whole thing will fall on our heads somehow when we summon the locket. Or someone will hear and come try to kill us," Harry answered, lighting the tip of his wand to try to illuminate the dim, cramped interior. It was creepy, and he was all too aware that feet away was a dead body. More bones and dust than the sort of dead body he'd been around in the past - Cedric's face, Hagrid's, his parents, Sirius' as he fell all flashed through his mind and Harry swallowed hard and pushed the thoughts away. They just had to fetch a bloody locket and go. That's all.
He reached up absently, fingers rubbing over the scar. And then frowned, turning in a slow circle and then walking over toward the south wall. "Look on this side first," he told the other two, starting to push at the looser bits of stone, or search for a hideyhole. He wasn't sure why, but he figured it was probably telling that he felt like it was closer on this side. His scar connected him to Voldemort, and the horcrux was connected to both of them because of that, or something. Hermione would probably have a better explanation.