After three hours of the excruciating headache Lord Voldemort was losing his patience. He knew that tactically it would be better for the boy to weaken himself and for his friendships to fragment on their own before he struck, but he couldn't take it anymore! The pressure was building and building. How was the boy doing this to him; how had he found a way to manipulate the scar like this? He'd not even been able to do it in the past.
He could feel the connection breaking past his shields straight into his mind and he knew that something had to give. He sighed as he realised he was going to do something impulsive and rash; it was not like him at all. He felt for the tendrils that would guide him in the blind apparition and tugged ever so slightly to check they held firm before he focussed solely on the other wizard's magic. Hopefully, the Potter residence wasn't too heavily rigged with traps and wards; he was tired and if he was going to kill the boy prematurely he wanted it to be quick.