Finally there was some reprieve from the flaming water as they threw themselves onto the porch. His arms stung with the burns that had made it through his shirt, but his attention remained on Ben and the other men.

“I think it was his head.” Somersby answered Umbridge.

Looking at the quidditch guy Somersby remembered the chunks of hail in his pack, surely melting now and the one’s on the ground. “If we can get some hail to put on our burns, that would likely help all of us with the burns.” He told him, fishing out a piece of hail from his pack and offering it to the man in some form of demonstration.