He scanned the brushes and brambles, knowing beyond all certainty the parcel he sought lay hidden somewhere within the thicket tearing at his robes. Pushing farther in, he cast "lumos" and held his wand aloft.
He knew to search after reaching her side. She'd fallen early, without preamble or heroics--blindsided by some upstart with a knack for bouncing hexes off trees. Her body was unexpectedly thin, breasts still heavy with milk.
The thorns ripped at his hands, knuckles crisscrossed with bright lines of crimson. Heedless, he grasped a prickly branch, thrusting it roughly aside. A small clearing lay just beyond the circle of light about him. He lunged forward.
Her precious friends had fallen soon after. Hogwarts stood a ruin. Voldemort lived.
The dark bundle remained tucked among night-blooming flowers, the "silencio" charm still intact. Crouching, he pulled it free and lifted the child inside to his chest. Dark, curling hair crowned the tiny head, cheeks flush with life and the slight chill of the air. He breathed in the sweet smell of the infant, dropping a light kiss upon the forehead, then twisted the small neck with a quick turn of his wrist.