Forrest really didn't know what was wrong with him. Today, he got up normally, did normall stuff, participated normally in classes, ate normal food, read the normal letter from his mother, then found his abnormal self at the edge of the Quidditch pitch while holding a broom. A broomstick, to be exact. One that people flew on. The kind that people rode at Quidditch matches. Something he must have got with same intentions too, but he didn't look like he was riding it any time soon. On the contrary, he looked at it as if it was an object from some other planet. It was an object from some other planet. He honestly had no idea how he'd ended up there with a broom in his hands in daylight. But there he was. Standing confusedly. Staring at it blankly.

Last year it was ice-cream. This year food had it?