Interlude: Voldemort

Something had changed. Voldemort absently pet Nagini as he pondered things. Potter had changed. Severus's mark had disappeared somehow. Bellatrix was gone, unable to attend him at the least and possibly dead. Narcissa and Draco had turned traitor. And Potter had changed.

Voldemort narrowed his eyes in irritation as he remembered his latest encounters with the Brat-Who-Lived. The lack of concern for Black had been strange, but he could accept that he'd been hasty and hadn't put much thought into designing the vision. It galled to hear that from Potter, but it was a fair evaluation.

Less understandable was the encounter at Bones Manor.

Potter shouldn't have been capable of apparating through his wards, but they did share that strange connection formed by the failed killing curse. To the best of his knowledge, such a connection had never before existed, so who was to say that it couldn't have odd side effects? If one of those side effects was the ability to go where only he, Voldemort, should have been able to go, that was… understandable. Somewhat anyway.

But the way Potter had wielded his magic… If he hadn't known better, he'd have thought he was facing himself, but the taste of the magic was decidedly different and, more importantly, why would any version of himself be trying to kill him? Nagini's loyalty had been absolute from the moment he placed the soul shard within her, and slipping into her mind was no different than changing clothes. Potter's mind, on the other hand, was utterly hostile. His attempts to enter it had been difficult and painful.

So what had happened? The Potter he faced in the cemetery hadn't been capable of fighting him on anything approaching an even level.

Training? It was a stretch to believe, but the prophecy did say Potter would have the power to defeat him. And all reports indicated that the boy hadn't had any training prior to that, yet he'd managed to survive, at the very least. A summer of training could potentially have caused it. Voldemort was certain that he'd have been capable of such rapid improvement, and if Potter was meant to have the power to defeat him, it was only reasonable to assume that the boy would be able to do the same.

Even so…

Master, you seem troubled, Nagini hissed. Is it because of the young one?

Voldemort smiled, bloodless lips twitching up minutely into as much of an expression as his current form allowed. He is a puzzle, he allowed, but one I needn't solve.

Indeed. He had more important concerns at the moment. Strange or no, Potter should be the least of his worries. He should be. He should but… Voldemort grimaced and rubbed his temples. This obsession needed to end.

"Pettigrew," he said abruptly.

The man jerked in fear from his position by the door and scurried closer. "Yes my lord?" he sniveled.

"Bring me a muggle. Teenaged, male, with black hair and glasses. Green eyes if you can manage, use a glamor if you can't." Perhaps torturing a good stand-in would settle him.