Rewritten

Summary: So we put out an ad in the school newsletter for a male or female roommate. And that was how James Potter came into the picture. AU L/J

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters mentioned.

AN: I'm writing this story for NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) and we're not meant to edit our work, just aim for a 50000 word story in the month of November. I'm running slightly behind but I want to put this story up for others to read. SO IF YOU HAVE A PROBLEM WITH ANY ERRORS REVIEW AND TELL ME ABOUT THEM BECAUSE I DON'T HAVE TIME TO GO THROUGH THIS STORY MYSELF! I'm also in exam season (wed the 9th to fri the 11th) so it might be kinda slow, but I will get this story up! I promise! It can be my first complete one!

Prologue

My dream, when I was young, was to grow old in an elegant way. I would never have any troubles. Everything would be perfect and exactly the way I wanted it to be. I would find myself a nice man, we would understand each other. He would have a good job that could provide for us, and I could write in my spare time, maybe pull in a bit more money if need be. We could have children and we would be happy. Just like in all the stories.

But that wouldn't work out.

I'd dreamed that my parents would be there for me, or at least until I was 50. My father would give me away at my wedding, my mother would be in the front row bawling her eyes out like all mother do. And I'd be content that they were there.

But when they left me alone at the age of 15, I felt betrayed. Like they didn't understand that I needed them there for as long as possible. I was sent to my sisters house. We'd never gotten along so I guess I blamed my parents for that as well. But it was there that I fel in love with novels. A bit late in life, but they were my escape.

When school returned, I threw myself into the work without a single glance backwards for the 2 years I had left. I read whenever I was home, and got a part time job as a librarian. My life became solely focused around myself and what I could do with my life. I didn't want to open up to any one else, for fear of losing them as well.

That's when writing became a passion. I wrote every day, every where, any where that I could. I was determined to find something in myself that would become a great story, something that could join the ranks with Shakespeare and Jane Austin. Plot lines came out everywhere, ideas stories and thoughts.

I did well in my O levels, and moved on to do English in college, the best years of my life. I wanted to be able to teach English, write English and just live an English life. My dreams of reliable men were forgotten.

Of course I had had a boy friend. I wasn't some little virginal child that was to be treated with respect and caring because you didn't think she knew about the word sex. I lost my virginity at the age of 16 to my best friend, and I wasn't ashamed of it at all. Sex was just another part of my shattered dreams.

My best friend was Remus. He had lost his leg in a fire when he was 7. His whole body was badly burnt, badly as in 1st degree. During his teenage years he was in operations every other week for skin grafts because he was growing to fast for his damaged skin. I hardly saw him during his growth spurt.

Remus never wanted a plastic leg. He has this amazing outlook on the world. He lost his leg because he was meant to, so why should he get another one. Remus believes in fate and destiny and all that crap, and how the stars can influence the earth. He isn't religious, that would be to hard, he just believes what he wants.

Remus was scared shitless when we slept with each other. He was afraid of the effect it would have on our relationship and friends, and if my parents would find out. That's why we waited till he was more comfortable with the timing. But then my parents died, and since he had been orphaned in the fire, it didn't matter anymore.

If it wasn't for the night we spent together, he would have never found out he was bi sexual. He didn't care either. We got closer after we sacrificed something for one another. I think he still has trust issues. Like his friends are only staying with him out of pity.

He came with me to Cambridge, but he's here to study Latin instead of English. He thinks I'm mental to want to teach as well. He calls all the kids little brats. I think that's just him.

We ended up sharing an apartment right next to the school grounds. Lots of people form the school stay there as the rent is cheap if your splitting it, and your in walking distance if your assignment are late. Ours was meant to be a 4 bedroom apartment (no couples), but with his needs, and me hanging around (so that I could help him around) with all my junk, it seemed to only have enough room for the two of us. We were happy.

He had the 1st bedroom, I had the second. The third was my library of over 300 books. I kept on having to save up for more bookshelves for in there as my collection kept on growing. I had a computer in there, with all of my idea's saved to the hard drive or filed away in the cabinet. The fourth bedroom was the storage space. We both had way too much junk coming with us form our separate homes that we never finished unpacking. Every now and again we'd grab another box to sort out, but that wasn't that often.

The kitchen was fine, the sitting room large (with Remus' measly little book case in the corner and a nice 16" TV in the other), the dining room was seldom used except during study periods when it wasn't a dining room any longer and the laundry was the place for the cats.

I loved my cats. They might go through breeding frenzies once a year and then I'd have an emotional break down while selling the kittens, but I could never say something bad about them. Remus liked (or as he called it put up with them) only because they were soothing during times of stress. All of them had bad habits and most of my money was blown on cat treats.

We had ended up buying the apartment together at the end of our first year so that we wouldn't have to pay rent, and just shared the electricity bills. But we decided that even if I was working, and Remus was too, and we didn't have that much to do, and he was mainly around at his girlfriends house, we needed just a bit more money. So we put out an ad in the school newsletter advertising for a male or female roommate. And that was how James Potter came into the picture.

He wasn't the first person to reply to the ad. The first was a cheerleader, first year, complete and utter bimbo surprisingly without blonde hair. She had taken one look at Remus, up and down that is, saw his missing leg, and left immediately. We turned away all other hopefuls that day because we got high on Colin Firth in Pride and Prejudice as well as beer. It was that night, when we were sprawled in front of the TV, watching Alias re runs, that he came knocking at the door.

Remus and I decided that he could definitely be the one to stay with us, when we saw him again the next morning sober and in pain. He like the apartment, like the building, didn't mind helping us clean out the room that he would eventually be staying in, and even said he would bring his bed from his previous home (no idea how).

For me, you could say it was love at first sight, hearts beating faster, blushing, rambling and stuttering… you know, the whole she bang. He stayed with us that night, got completely smashed, and ended up sleeping on the sofa with Tiddy (one of our darling cats) perched on his face. We still have the photo. Instead of turning him away, he seemed to take it as a sign that he should stay and he moved in the next week.

The next year was a mass of confusion. We ended up dating, but then something drove us apart and he left. My heart broke and the story stayed with me.

I cried when he left. I cried for days and days, wondering why I had let someone else in. hadn't I sworn to protect myself? I was the only one I could rely on. But when I stopped crying, something in me snapped.

I'd never actually finished writing a book before, but our story, our struggles as a couple, and our hope, stayed with me until the end. I wrote like a woman possessed. According to Remus I didn't sleep for days, just sat in front of the computer in my library typing my life away.

I remember writing about the pain of the break up, how my heart felt, the earth shattering sex, the way we connected. I wrote about my feeling that I never told him, the way I felt at different times, I poured my soul into my work and didn't retrieve it. I drove Remus to the point of insanity with the sound of typing at night. I skipped my classes, my dead lines, my life.

When it came time for me to send it off to a publisher I was scared. Not for me, but for the book. I hadn't change dour names, maybe I should have, but I was writing under an alias so no one could tell. I was having second thoughts. Did I really want people to know my story? Would people want to know my story?

I sent it off. Every thing returned to normal. But I didn't care. Now the story was out there, it was like I could breathe again.

Two weeks after I sent it off, I got a call back from the publisher asking to meet me somewhere to discuss the book. I thought they were just going to chuck it back in my face, but I went anyway.

Daniel Harts was the man I met with, the man that my draft had been given over too. He told me that he'd never read any thing like my story. He told me he would be thrilled to publish it, and that leaving my name in the story was fine. I'd never realised how much work these men did but over the next few months, the final edits were done, the cover designed and the book went to print.

I'd finished my exams with meagre results, and my mind seemed to be slipping. I couldn't' stop thinking about James… his face, his hair, his eyes. I kept on wishing that we hadn't broken up, that he was still there beside me. I thought about him constantly.

Remus proposed to his girl friend of 3 years, and she accepted. I attended their hastily arranged (in one month) wedding during September, and I saw James there.

I knew Remus had invited him because of me. He was hoping that would could sort things out between us. But I hid. I ran away from the wedding as soon as I could, and when Remus asked why, I just claimed that I was feeling ill. And I was.

Seeing his again had put this sick feeling in my stomach. I didn't know what I was going to do. Was he dating? I didn't have the courage to ask. Did he miss me?

Another week, and many lonely nights, down the track my book was released. The reviews said it was the most touching story that any one could create, not because of its plot line, but 'because Miranda Fay left some of her soul behind when she wrote it'. It was 'a story for those who have loved… and lost.'