(an: Thanks to all of you that have reviewed. I appreciate it more than I can say. It inspires me to turn out chapters faster. That's a hint, by the way. ;) Just wanted to let you know that it'll be a little more than a week before I update again as I am going on vacation. I hope to have a chapter or two before I get back. Can't make any promises, o'course. [You know you're a HP fan if the words 'Rough game, Quidditch' are popping into your head right now] Anywho, sorry this chapter is short. I originally planned on writing a lot more to it, but it seemed to work well where I stopped it. And to all of you that said that you can relate to Emma, I'm glad. I was trying to go for a realistic viewpoint. Most of the stuff in this story is exaggerated storytelling of actual events that have happened either to me or my friends. Well, on to the chapter.)

Ch. 6

As much as I hated it, I avoided Oliver for the rest of the school-year. I didn't want to risk pushing him further away. I quickly sank into a depression. I had never felt so lost in my life. The excessive amounts of homework became the only thing keeping me going. I latched onto it like a lifesaver, pouring myself into the work. I started not only working on mandatory homework, but also completing the recommended homework. And when that didn't satisfy me anymore, I asked for extra credit homework. You see, when I was working, I couldn't think about him.

I wasn't sleeping or eating anymore. It seemed pointless. So I was up before everyone else working, I worked through all the meal times and breaks, and I was the last one to go to bed. I usually passed out from exhaustion, my pillow soaked from the tears. And when I did sleep, I had reoccurring nightmares that I would wake up screaming from, drenched in a cold sweat.

It was taking a toll on my appearance. The bags under my eyes were getting large enough to carry my books around in and I had lost almost twenty pounds. The teachers were getting worried about me and I was sent by them to Professor McGonagall's office a couple times a week. She warned me to slow down and start eating more, but I ignored her warnings.

Towards the beginning of May, the teachers had banded together and stopped giving me recommended or extra credit homework. They guarded me carefully at meal times, refusing to let me leave the Great Hall until I had eaten at least a plateful. Madam Pomfrey had me in the hospital wing every night after dinner drinking Pepper-up Potions.

Percy and Penelope tried their best to help me, but I didn't want to bring them down with me, so I pushed them away. I pushed everyone away. I appreciated their concern, but nothing they did could make me better. My body was now controlling everything I did. I was on automatic.

The reasonable side of me told me to get over him. Nobody was worth doing this to yourself. But what was left of my heart told me to never give up on him. If you love him this much, you should always keep fighting for him. I knew I would never find a best friend like him again. Nobody in this world would ever feel right.

So I continued on my downward spiral. O.W.L.'s came and went and all the hard work paid off. The questions seemed too easy and the practical tests pleased the inspectors immensely. I know I passed with flying colors. And so the school year ended.

Once I got home, I no longer had school work to lean on. I turned to our garden and the local library instead. I tried desperately to recreate the indoor garden at school in my backyard, but without the aid of magic, it failed dreadfully. The garden looked great with what came up, but it was no where close to the beauty of that enchanted room.

When I wasn't working in the garden, I found solace in reading poetry. Emily Dickinson and Edgar Allen Poe were two of my favorites. They seemed to agree with my mood. The exquisiteness of the lyrics moved my soul in ways I had never experienced. They seemed to reawaken me. Passion was stirring inside of me again and it felt wonderful. It was a new beginning. And when I read all the poetry books in the library, I picked up a pen and started writing my own feelings into poems.

It was therapy. Being able to release all of that love, hate, stress, depression, confusion, and resentment was instrumental to my mental health. I stopped having the nightmares and was able to get a full night's sleep. I even smiled for the first time in five months on my way to London to get my school supplies. Bored in the car, I wrote a rather nasty poem about the guy on a motorcycle in front of us. His pants weren't pulled up far enough and we got a wonderful view of his ass crack. I actually giggled. It was like a breath of fresh air. It was at that instant I knew that I would be okay. I would never be the same, but I would live. Beneath the poem I wrote a simple sentence that summed up everything.

Behind passing clouds, the sun still shines.