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... terns of light through the thick branches of the oak trees. The crisp morning air had begun to warm, but Nero barely noticed.

He remained seated on the stone porch, one leg stretched out, the other bent at the knee, his fingers idly tracing patterns against the rough stone.

His gaze was distant, his thoughts an intricate web of calculations and introspection.

Dumbledore had left, securing something or someone for their next move, but Nero knew better than to let himself s ...

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