The flames were engulfing everything around him and the teacher, getting closer and closer each second. He was struggling to keep himself and the teacher safe from the flames, and just as he was about to give up, when another boy came to his aid. He was a Slytherin, he recognized him before, before all this happened. He couldn't pinpoint his name, but he was just glad he was helping him. The two first years still struggles, but they moved slightly faster with two people carrying the teacher. They were finally nearing the group.
A couple of trees in the way caused them to turn, putting Faniel with his back to the flames. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a figure emerge from the flames. Looking over he saw that it was one of the attackers. The flames, moved away from his as he walked through them, as if he had an invisible shield around him. He lifted his wand up, not pointed at Dan, but at the other boy helping him. He heard him mutter a word.
He couldn't make out what he said, but before he knew it, A bolt of red light shot from his wand heading towards the Slytherin. He (carefully) dropped the teachers upper body, running over to the other side. His wand arm crossed over his chest, with his wand barely catching the spell on its tip. For the second the spell hund on the tip of Daniel's wand, words echoed through his mind.
You've got to mean it. Dan flung the spell back with such power and speed the attacker had no time to react. He met the spell with a scream, and an even louder scream as he landed in the flames as they seemed to engulf him. Dan couldn't tell for sure, he could have use the shield he had around him before to escape. The rest of the group was close enough to see what happened, and Daniel worried. He had just, probably, killed someone. He worried for a second, before his mind shifted back to the now struggling Slytherin first year. His body resumed shaking as he carried the body. Once finally back to the castle, he placed her down outside on the grass, yelling for medical help. As he waited his mind drifted off to nothingness, and he was on his knees on the grass. His hair was a mess, his arms and face were decorated in cuts and scrapes, robes were torn, and hands covered in blood, but how he looked wa nothing compared to how he felt inside. He might have killed someone. The horrible words kept echoing in his mind.
You've got to mean it.