A/N: Interlude warnings for; implied/referenced violence.

Thanks again to our wonderful beta, and hope you all enjoy this short interlude before the next chapter. We can't wait to share it with you.

INTERLUDE: Albus' Remorse

...

October 1995

Things are advancing too quickly for me to react. I have always prided myself on being ten steps ahead of what fate has in store for me.

I was ahead when Ariana was attacked. I was ahead when my father was executed. I felt as if I was ahead of the looming disaster of the love of my life trying to kill me.

I was ahead when I faced him.

But this is not one of those times.

Tom has made a bewildering move. It was not what I expected. It was too bold. Too soon. Too drastic.

It unsettled me, how his roots ran deep down every infrastructure. Within the Ministry, Gringotts, and within the Order.

Severus' disposition, and Argent's for that matter, blindsided us. This was not something we were expecting. They infiltrated every place that should not have. The Ministry is not safe. The number of our spies within their circles is dangerously low. I trust none but myself. Not even the sun that rises.

I know why he attacked the orphanage. I know that he took a particular item only, and massacred the children for fun. He went back to retrieve a Horcrux. He succeeded. Bella did the same and succeeded.

I just don't know why he did it now.

The game is dangerously tilting toward the other side. And I am stuck, in a place that haunts my intelligence.

This is Morris's revenge.

I feel it deep in my bones, every second that I spend here, in this place. He does not want me to find what he hid years ago. The Horcrux that R gave him. The instrument of his lament.

He does not want me in his house.

He is pained and angry.

It might not be worth much, but for what it was worth, I truly am sorry, for how fate and I dealt our cards when it came to him and R.

I truly am, Morris, but I know that you have what I need. He gave you a Horcrux. He gave you his love and death, and his hope. And you kept it. You must have.

If I could find it before Tom realizes that as well, then that will tip the game in our favour again.

And I know, and I feel ahead of the game, because of him. Thank you, for writing me that letter my friend. I know that despite your hate, you wanted me to know that the package was received.

I am sorry again. Your loss will always haunt my soul, but you realized what I knew way too late.

War kills all love and spares none.

Attached to the flimsy page and messy handwriting, is a folded parchment, browned around the edges, the ink almost faded;

"Dear Albus,

He is dead. Dead. Gone.

I could not feel him anymore, long before Kreacher came to me with the news and the package.

He was gone.

I blame you. I blame you for what you took from me.

I hope you burn in hell, in fact, I sincerely hope that I meet you there to execute my own vengeance.

You are dead to me.

Morris Prewett"