You reminded me of a poem I have not thought of in a long time by William Butler Yeats. Now let's see if I can remember.... Turning and turning in the widening gyre The falcon cannot hear the falconer Things fall apart. The center cannot hold. Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world. The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere The ceremony of innocence is drowned. The best lack of conviction, while the worst are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand. Surely The Second Coming is at hand. The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out, when a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi troubles my sight. Somewhere in sands of desert, a shape with lion body and the head of man, a gaze blank and pitiless as the sun, is moving its slow thighs, while all about it, reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again, but now I know, that twenty centuries of stony sleep were vexed no nightmare by a rocking cradle.
And what ill beast, its hour come round at last - steers towards Bethlehem to be born?
Hmmm. The phenomenon you describe with this story is called, in psychology, "taking the side of the aggressor."
All I can say is: After what they have been through, the muggle-borns really should know better.