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Gliding along the edge of the village, a dark figure headed purposefully towards the once empty lot. He took a moment to pause, eyeing the house that was now visible to his slitted eyes with unadulterated glee. Fingers gently stroked his wand as he readied himself, and, stepped through the wards.
They crashed to the ground around him, with chiming tinkles like broken glass. A beautiful sound for a beautiful night.
A voice rang out from inside the cottage, a voice so deliciously full of fear.
"Lily, take Harry and go! It’s him! Go! Run! I’ll hold him off ——”
Scrambling could be heard as he approached the door. With a single flick of his wand, the door disintegrated into dust, and the figure caught a glimpse of something facing him in the foyer. He chuckled. Silly boy, to think he could face HIM. But the size was all wrong. The shape was all wrong.
Instead of a man, the dust settled to reveal an absolutely massive stag facing him with eyes aflame. The interior lights gilded it's magnificent rack and shone upon the hoof pawing angrily at the ground, nostrils flaring as it huffed in anger.
Voldemort paused, and that pause was his undoing. The last thing he saw was a pair of wicked antlers bearing down on him at a truly frightening speed before sharp, stabbing pains erupted all over his torso, and he knew no more.
Of course, this did not prevent Lord Voldemort from eventually returning as his horcruxes were still intact. But it did mean, among a host of other things, that Harry Potter grew up loved by both parents, free of any chosen one nonsense, and with a father who, every autumn, would hold up a gourd and proclaim "This is how I defeated the Dark Lord!"