Voldemort had Harry Potter at his mercy.
"Avada Kedavra!" he shrieked in triumph.
A flash of green light. A rushing sound.
Harry Potter crumpled to the floor in a heap.
…
"Dear?" Harry opened his eyes. The plump face of a kindly looking woman swam into view. He felt exhausted, and a piercing pain was stabbing at his forehead.
"He's awake!" The woman exclaimed, and a group of people surrounded him with anxious faces.
"Who are you?" Harry asked, slightly panicked. "Where's Voldemort? Why am I not dead?"
The woman, and Harry now noted that she had a nurse's uniform, clucked her tongue sympathetically.
"Well, pet," she said, "I'm not sure who this Voldemort is, but I do know we all thought you had died. You've been in a coma for sixteen years."
"WHAT?" Harry roared, "But…the Final Battle! Surely you know who he is – and what about Ron? Ginny? Hermione? Where are they?"
"Ssh," said the nurse soothingly, "You don't want to over-exert yourself. You were in a car crash. Right terrible one too. I – I'm so sorry, love, but it killed your parents. You seem to have gotten out of it unscathed, though," she smiled, "Except for that strange scar."