A/N: Better late than never. I guess I confused some people, but this is an edited version of Four Essays. I might post up the old version again, if some people want to see it, but for now, enjoy this. And - ThankyouthankyouthankyouTHANKYOU for all the reviews.

Chapter 3: The Reactions

Remus was on the verge of laughing, and laughing loud. Sirius was inching away from him, anxious to get out of the room, a scowl plastered on his face. His best friend was not a heart-on-his-sleeve kind of guy. He was sarcastic and loud when he wanted to be, true, but, generally, Sirius liked to keep everything bottled up inside him, until he imploded or exploded. Usually to the person unfortunate enough to push him past the edge.

Remus was wise, which was exactly why he saw all these things.

So he wasn't surprised when Lily ran, because Lily ran away from the one thing she could not, no matter how hard she tried, understand. None of her books or her intelligence could help her here. He also wasn't surprised when James, always running and running and never giving up the only thing that could ever make him happy, ran after her.

And he wasn't surprised either, when Dumbledore seemed to have conveniently disappeared. "So."

"Don't." Sirius' voice was dangerous, but he pushed anyway. Sirius would lash out with words and occasionally with fists or hell, even magic, but he wasn't going to seriously injure one of his best friends. Usually.

"Padfoot, you do keep all those emotions locked in you, don't you?"

"Shut it, Moony," Sirius snarled.

He chuckled. "I never knew you felt so much."

"Moony. Shut the fuck up."

"Just tell me – how long?"

"I don't know. Forever, maybe," Sirius said sarcastically. "Now shut up about it before I make you."

But it was more of a grumbling, now, and Remus knew that this was their way. Sirius might never say it in those words, and James would simply acknowledge them with actions, and Peter was only quiet but blindly devoted, but they knew. And just because they never said it, it didn't mean it wasn't any less true.

They never said it, but they felt it. They loved.

James ran, his black sneakers making almost no sound on the corridor. He kept saying her name over and over again, but she just kept running. Running away. From him. Wasn't this enough proof?

And then she tripped.

At moments like this, time did not slow. Time was the same, but you – you were faster. All he could see was her, and the way her shoe had caught on a pebble, and how she stumbled forward, hands put out, trying to break her fall. With a final burst of speed, he lunged.

His arms wrapped around her waist and turned, so that she fell on top of him and he hit the hard floor.

The only sound in the corridor was their heavy breathing. Lily pushed him away, lightly, so that she was about a foot away from him. That just did it. He was just so sick of this. So, so sick. He stood up and would have walked away, except he couldn't. It was like this girl was the sun and all he could do was spin around her.

He held out a hand and she hesitated before she took it.

When she stood up he looked at her. And then he walked away.

"James."

He didn't turn. "What?"

Her voice wavered. "Why'd you – why'd you write that?"

He laughed harshly. "Why'd I write that? You know why, Evans. Don't pretend you don't."

"Yeah," she found herself muttering. "Yeah, I do."

He spun around then and glared at her. She shrank back. He might not have ever been scary to her, but she sort of understood now why so many people were afraid of James Potter. He was scary – just… just never scary with her. Never hurting her. Never doing anything but petting her and taking care of her and helping her with head duties and making her laugh when she felt depressed and –

"Why do you do this, Lily?" His voice was like thunder, crackling and – furious.

"What?" she said, defensive now. She wasn't even doing anything. If there was anyone who could get under her skin like no one else, it was James bloody Potter.

"Why do you string me around like you're a fucking puppeteer who can just toy with other people's emotions?"

"I – I didn't – I didn't do that," Lily mumbled, looking away from his accusing gaze. Why was she feeling guilty? Did she ask him to read her essay? Did she ask him to write those things? No and no. So what was with this thing eating into her stomach and making her want to hurl?

"Really." His voice cut and dripped with sarcasm. "So I suppose all that you wrote in that essay was all just – fake?"

She winced.

"Who else, Lily, makes you laugh when you're depressed? Gave you a thousand daisies on your birthday? Danced with you in the rain? Gave you really creepy love letters? Held your hand? Wrote you notes? Helped you with your homework?"

In the middle of his little rant, she had looked up and felt ashamed. Humiliated. After all he had done for her, she still did not want to admit it. Not to James or to Alice or to anyone else, or even to herself. She didn't want anyone to know that she had finally fallen in love with James Potter.

James was not nice.

James was brilliant and shone and amazing and James was – James was everything. "No one."

"Yes. I thought so. Can you honestly deny, Lily, that everything in your mind was me? Can you deny that I got into your head?"

Her voice felt scratchy. She could not deny that James was everything she thought love was and she was the same to him, and didn't that just say something about how sick and true and amazing this was? "No."

He deflated right before her eyes. "Yes. But it doesn't change anything, does it?" He looked away. "I'm sorry, Lily."

And she was reaching out –

"Wait," Lily called, tripping in her haste.

"You trip a lot," James said as he reached out an arm to catch her.

"Yes." She swallowed uncomfortably and looked rather angry, James noted. "Yes. I fall a lot."

"You just said that," James pointed out, tightening his grip on her waist.

"I know. That's just it. I know. And I hate it. I hate falling." She was angry. "But I like it, too. I don't even know what's happening to me anymore, and I hate this feeling. Sometimes, I can't even think anymore, James. I can't even think anymore, because all I can think about is you. And do you know how sick that is?" she demanded, furious. "I can't even concentrate on life sometimes, because you just – you just get under my skin all the time. All the time and I hate it.

"You're all I see, anymore. All I see and feel, James. Whether it's because I'm mad at you or ignoring you or panicking about you – it's all just you. And I hate it."

He didn't know why she was angry. But it was more like she was talking to herself than talking to him. Then she was.

"But I think – I think I know already. I think I know." And she was hesitant, before she flared right up again. "James Potter, why do you always have to get what you want?" Lily demanded, flushing. Her green eyes sparked.

"What?" Why was he in love with this irritating girl who wasn't entirely sensible?

"What do you mean 'What'?" she demanded. "Are you dense?"

James Potter was not dense. He wasn't even remotely close to stupid. He was actually a genius. But there was one thing – one person, who could throw all his common sense and logic straight out the window. There was one girl who could make him desperately confused.

Luckily, he wasn't for much longer.