Neville and Enola had spent their night darting from floor to floor, from room to room at times, dousing the flames as they found them, but they couldn't even begin to imagine what it must be like up in the Potter Suite on the Seventh Floor. It might have burned to a crisp for all they knew. Neville had tried once to get up there, but the air was so hot and humid, so dense with sex and magic, from the fifth floor up, that he couldn’t breathe long enough to endure it.