A/N everybody's got to have one of these 'Wrong Boy Who Lived' stories. Here's my take.
The Dark Lord fell screaming, clutching desperately at the air; he felt himself go limp, felt his very soul ripped out of his body-
His once-sharp eyes lost their color; his mind went blank; his body shriveled. Lord Voldemort died confused, in tremendous agony, with a heartful of hatred and a mindful of malice.
James and Lily raced up the spiral staircase, screaming and shouting. They'd heard the high laugh, the shrill scream, the bloodcurdling shriek…
They found the nursery demolished; the wall had caved outward, sending bricks flying through the well-manicured lawn. Pieces of debris littered the floor, but the two didn't care; they ran barefoot through the minefield of glass and concrete to the two cribs, their minds racing.
A massive, gaping hole appeared where the second crib should have been. Lily gave a small gasp, James a cry of despair. Smoke and dust wafted out of the crater, filling the house with incense. "No...NO! Harry! HARRY!" The two stood for a while, unmoving, in a state of shock and abject terror. A large, concrete boulder suddenly tumbled through the air- Lily lashed out desperately at it, waving her wand- "Wingardium Leviosa! WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!"
Crack. The stone crushed what remained of the crib- and what remained of the small boy within. "No, no, no, no, no!" James muttered, leaping through the hole, struggling to pick up the massive weight. He rolled the stone to one side and stared, his eyes disbelieving-
Wooden splinters filled the gap; small bits of blood and bone appeared among the dust and ashes. James bent, picking up the flaky mess, tears forming in his brown eyes-
For the first time in fifteen years, he cried. Heavy tears watered the remains of his second son, spilling onto the ground below. He sat there for awhile, rooted to the spot, unable to think, unable to process.
"James. James!" Lily shouted. "Aiden… he's hurt, bad." The man reluctantly dropped what remained of his second son. With a heavy heart, he climbed back through the roof. The second crib was virtually undamaged; in it, a small boy lay, fast asleep. On his forehead was a perfect, V-shaped scar. "V… for Voldemort…" James murmured.
"Yes. I'd suspected something like this would happen." A gravely voice said. They turned around to find the tall form of Albus Dumbledore standing in what remained of the door frame. "Sybil Trelawney has recently spoken a prophecy; it goes something like this: "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not…" he muttered. "Little Aiden must be the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord; he has been chosen to bring balance to the universe."
Lily stared up at the old man, shocked. "What does this mean, Albus?"
"Aiden has the power to defeat the Dark Lord, Lily. He is the chosen one, the One Above All, the Boy Who Lived." Dumbledore intoned.
James frowned. "WHAT?! He's defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? But he's just a baby!"
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "He may be 'just a baby', but he's a very special baby, James."
The procession of three left Godric's Hollow. Dumbledore led, carefully levitating Aiden's crib, followed by a shell-shocked James and a heartbroken Lily. The sun peeked over the edge of the cliffs, illuminating the rubble outside the house.
Beneath the boulder, something stirred. Something powerful. Something primordial. Harry James Potter, the Master of Death, reformed, bit by bit, mending and stitching together with astonishing speed. Blood returned to the organs; the lungs inflated, the bones repositioned themselves. Flesh covered bone and skin covered flesh; the small boy stood, his eyes glinting in the dark air, hearty and whole.