The Muggles stared in hysterical fear at the cloaked man, envisioning the awful things to come, as the girl's father strode forward. Percival prodded the mysterious man with his boot, trembling in fury and silently amazed that this man had given his life in vain to protect them. Then he gazed back at the woman in gray who had traveled with him. She was still catching her breath on a nearby log, unaware that anything tragic had taken place. And then Percival's tottering gaze jogged back to where his daughter was resting in her mother's arms, his sons guarding over her, having witnessed so many evils. He swiveled with unnatural speed and advanced on the Muggles.

"WAIT."

"WE ONLY —"

With a cold frown and a violent wave of his wand, several vines within the bramble flourished out from behind them like the tendrils of a great beast. The vines clutched onto their necks and gradually constricted. The boys gasped and struggled, fighting against the crushing spell, as their faces went purple. They didn't realize that it was no use fighting. They kicked and clawed desperately at the ever-tightening vines when they were suddenly lifted from the ground. And then Percival turned away, not caring to watch as the boys dangled to their deaths.

His youngest, Aberforth, was weeping freely. Wearing a disturbed expression, he looked hesitantly at his father, more afraid of him in that moment than of what had happened to his sister. The oldest, Albus, was still gripping the stick in his hand, staring down the three boys he had first seen from the tree, watching intently as every hint of life drained from their twitching faces.

When Percival returned to his wife's side and bent to look upon his beaten daughter, the vines loosened and the Muggles dropped to the ground like sacks of rotten vegetables after the harvest.

"How could you?"

They turned. It was the woman in the gray, woolen robe. Her face was drawn and sorrowful.

"I... he jumped in front of the spell," said Percival, suddenly remorseful.

"Not him. The boys!" said the woman confusedly. "They were children! And they know nothing of this world!"

"It had to be done!" said Percival. "They were not innocent."

"...and neither are you..."

Albus gasped, as they all twisted in place to see the man in the brown cloak, the stranger who had been hit by the killing curse, pushing himself up from the ground. He stared at the three Muggle boys in distress. He unwrapped the vines from their bloated necks and felt for heartbeats.

"They are dead."

The man lumbered toward Percival, eyes narrowed. There was a scorch mark on his shirt where the killing curse had struck him. And, through the slit, they saw a glowing green scar in the shape of a lightning bolt. It faded to a bloody scab as he moved closer. Watching in utter disbelief, Percival clambered for his wand and sent a stunning spell at him. The man walked through it. Then he pulled out a wand of his own and swiped it upwards. Percival's robe was yanked off his shoulders. The sleeves knotted behind his back, shackling his arms.

A tear trickled down the chiseled face of the man in the cloak, as the father of the girl who had been tortured spun abruptly to face his family.

"What are you doing?" Kendra cried in a tremor, setting down her daughter. She ran forward, as the man took hold of Percival's knotted robe and pulled him away. "Wait!"

"No."

"Release him! Why are you even here?!"

"I came because of your daughter," he said, his voice more determined than before. "I saw. She showed them."

"I won't tell the Ministry, I'll make a vow. Just... please... you cannot take him from us."

"Kendra?" said Percival in a labored whisper.