Forrest arrived at the potions classroom after breakfast on Saturday after class with a book that probably weighed more than him, to find the classroom...

...empty. Completely. Not even a fly in here.

He'd hoped, prayed, that there would be people in here. OLDER people too, preferably, who might have helped him a little with his choice of ingredients. But it was only him and himself in there, and his disappointment and panic was obvious on his face.

Setting the book down on the closest table, he finally noticed the flying paper and took a look at it, his disappointment turning into fear, panic and anger.

"'If you fail, that is alright.'" he repeated angrily in a woman's voice. The Professor wouln't hear that, right?! "You'll get a zero, but that's fine!" He didn't even know what a 'bezoar' was, and all his enthusiasm to find out had flown away. In fact, he just wanted to sit down there and cry and whine and call for his mother who was 5300 kilometres away in Riyadh. His annoyance wasn't about the 'testing' part though, because with a piece of simple grass, dead stick, dirty lake water and a wild daisy, nothing would happen. The 'failing' part annoyed him, and the size of expectation. He was a bloody muggleborn first year, and he was expected to find GOOD ingredients then brew a bloody WORKING potion with them, only for it to be SOLD for the bloody Hogwarts.

Crying there seemed like the wisest thing he'd ever do in his life, but with a last effort that was for his mother and father only, he lifted the book again and found his table. It stood out perfectly from the others that had fancy ingredients on them. Dropping the book on it, since he didn't quite care whether anything fell, he just plopped himself down and fonded his hand on the book to lie his head over them.

Maybe if he looked miserable enough, professor would pity him and excuse him or something.