[It's a nice sunny day, and what you see is a field with a few trees. Sitting under one of the trees is Shanoa, along with a
young man. He is reading a book with one arm around Shanoa's shoulders. She, on the other hand, is writing in her journal as she leans against him
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That was Albus. I grew up with him in the Order.
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Where is he now?
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He's dead now.
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At least we don't forget them.
Do you wish at all that you could, forget him?
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