Non-magic people (more commonly known as Muggles) were particularly afraid of magic in medieval times, but not very good at recognising it. On the rare occasion that they did catch a real witch or wizard, burning had no effect whatsoever. The witch or wizard would perform a basic flame freezing charm and then pretend to shriek with pain while enjoying a gentle, tickling sensation.

A History of Magic (excerpt)

Let Them Burn

The Muggles were at it again.

It was with a smirk on his lips and a wrinkled nose that Nicholas Malfoy walked through the throngs of detritus that regrettably constituted the majority of the human race. The village was called Hapsbrook. Its population numbered at around 240. By the end of today, that would be reduced to at least 234. Because when the Muggles sought to burn witches, they were actually able to follow through. That was why, out of the church, came the six women accused of witchcraft. Of spreading the plague that had consumed Europe and now, England as well. It occurred to him that if the people here were worried about plague, they might not want to congregate in such numbers, but then, when had Muggles ever been logical? You could only expect so much intelligence from dumb animals.

So he smirked, as he watched the "witches" be led to the pile of wood in the town square, with six stakes waiting for them. He wrinkled his nose, because the smell of shit was everywhere. Places like Hapsbrook were as filthy as Muggle dwellings usually were, but as Muggle society collapsed, as the bodies piled up, there were less people to deal with the filth growing all around them. And even if they had been able to get this place into some kind of sanitary conditions, he'd have to deal with their stench regardless. Having his fun with them, disguising his kills as victims of the plague was one of the few pleasures left to him in this world right now.

He watched as the women were bound. Some accepted their fate with dignity. Others pleaded for mercy, claiming that they weren't witches. Which of course they weren't, because if they were, they'd have easily been able to escape a prison as rudimentary as rope. He figured that if the Muggles truly believed that these women were responsible for using their magic to spread the plague this far north, then surely they'd have the powers to escape being burnt alive. Still, he listened as their priest began to talk – God, the Devil, mercy, cleansing fire, the works. It was the same things the priests always said, and as always, they ignored whatever the so-called witches had to say in their defence. At times, they'd admit that if they were wrong, their god would take their souls unto him, but Nicholas was dubious as to that. If any creator had a hand in the human race, they'd created something shoddy. If an artist created a sculpture, and only 5-10% was anything worth saving, then that didn't salvage the sculpture itself. What it meant was that the sculpture had to be shattered, and be made anew. Which he'd have been happy to do, if the shattered pieces didn't keep rebuilding themselves. Even with the plague sweeping across the land, the Muggles continued to breed like rabbits.

But not these six, he thought to himself. He smirked as the base of the wood was lit. Unless they've already done so.

At this point, as the crowd yelled, cheered, and screamed curses at the "whores of the Devil," Nicholas knew that there wasn't much more reason to stay. He could slink out of sight, apparate, and be back at Malfoy Manor in time for afternoon tea. Besides, Aurion had returned from Hogwarts, and at the tender age of twelve, the boy still needed-

The hell?

Hell had come to Hapsbrook. Hell had come to the continent, and Hell was populated by the barbaric creature known as Man. But it wasn't that which filtered through Nicholas's mind. Rather, it was the figure moving through the crowd. One clad in clothes finer than any possessed by these illiterate peasants, and one of golden hair, bereft of dust and grime. One who was striding towards the bonfire in the square.

Foolish boy.

Nicholas made his way through the crowd, his smirk turning into a scowl as his body rubbed against the filth that cheered at the murder going on. Still, it was worth it, as he put his hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Aurion."

Aurion Malfoy spun around, his eyes conveying his shock.

"Father?"

Along with his voice. "What are you doing here?" Nicholas asked.

Aurion shook his hand off his shoulder. "Something you should do."

He turned back to face the bonfire and Nicholas quickly realized what his son was planning. Quick as a cat, he drew out his wand and put it against his son's back.

"Another step," Nicholas murmured, "and more than six will die here today."

Aurion scoffed. "Big words father."

"You wish to mock me, hide your fear." Nicholas took a step towards him and put a hand on his shoulder. "I must admit, I'm almost impressed at your stupidity."

Aurion winced as the smell of burning flesh wafted through the air, carried over them by wind and screams.

"You're not to use magic outside school. And you came here with a plan to save these so-called witches."

Aurion looked back at his father, a fire in his eyes. "Then why don't you save them?"

"I can give you a thousand reasons boy. Where should I start?"

"At the one that excuses murder!"

Murder, Nicholas reflected. Animals killing animals wasn't murder. He didn't know what the hell his son was learning at that school, but if he was coming back home with this attitude, then he might have to take a trip up north himself. He put a hand on his son's shoulder. "I want you to listen carefully," Nicholas said. "There's reasons why people like us hide from people like…like them." He nodded towards the cheering crowd. "And in case you're wondering why, this is one of the reasons."

Aurion slapped his father's hand off his shoulder. "To hell with your reasons." He turned round, took a step towards the fire-

"Petrificus totalus," Nicholas murmured.

And froze in place, unable to move, unable to speak. Nicholas put his hand back on his son's shoulder to keep him from falling. If any of the Muggles had been paying attention, they might have noticed just how unnatural a pose Aurion had struck, but all eyes were focused on the six burning at the stake. Or at this point, what was left of them, their skin now blackened, their muscle burning like pig on the fire.

"I want you to watch this," Nicholas murmured. "I want you to remember that this is what Muggles would do to us if they could find us. I want you to remember it now. I want you to remember it at that school, and if a mudblood comes within five feet of you, I want you to remember it all the more. And when you have children of your own, when you continue the line of Malfoy, I want you to still remember this moment."

The 'witches' weren't screaming as much now. Being burnt alive had that effect on people. Well, Muggles at least, and they could hardly be considered "people" at the end of the day. No real "people" would do this to themselves.

"Remember this," Nicholas said. "Or else you may end up joining them."

He whispered the words to undo the body bind. Aurion stumbled forward, but his father still kept him steady.

"And thus their souls have been left to the mercy of God," said the priest. "Amen."

His mercy. Not yours, Nicholas reflected as his son turned back to look at him. His eyes no longer alight with fire, but rather, entangled with darkness.

"You could have saved them," he whispered. "A freeze charm, apparition, you could have saved them."

"I could do many things," Nicholas murmured. He put his hand on his son's shoulder and began leading him away from the crowd, to a point where they could safely apparate. "In time, you'll understand why I don't. And why you must never do so either." He glanced back at the stakes, and the charred corpses that remained, their scorched, burning, putrid selves on sight for the world to see. "Why you must always let them burn."