Today was it, today wass the day. A young boy was going to pull himself up, by his puny size 4 boot straps and make himself a man of the world. He had packed all of his belongings into a comical plastic rolling suitcase and covered it in stickers as he had seen so many others at the train station do. Of course, having been nowhere special or noteworthy in his life, he had to settle for some of those stickers that cost 75 cents at the flea market, or a dollar at the shady gas station with no working pumps. His suitcase looked like it was bought at a garage sale, ten years earlier, and the children who were owners before him had put several stickers on it, then tried to rip about half off before covering it again and kicking it down a flight of stairs. His suitcase looked bad. But he felt not bad. He felt nice.

A little cold maybe, honestly the weather was not suitable for a day trip, it was probably 45 degrees outside and he had no jacket, so he had to wear four t-shirts on top of each other and a ski mask. His outfit looked bad. But he felt not bad. He felt nice. He wore khaki slacks in case he needed to look formal, and running shoes in case he needed to run, in case someone stole his 3$ plastic suitcase or his ski mask, in case someone thought he was a robber and decided to run away, and he needed to run after them and scream at them that he was not a robber, waving his cane that he also had because one of his legs didn't work so well. Probably the size 4 feet, one of which was really a size 6. He wasn't a fool who was going to go and buy two different pairs of shoes or get in a fight with a teenager at the shoe store about buying one shoe in each size. His time was precious and limited, for today was the big day.

A big day he said. Looking in the mirror. You couldn't see much of his besides the skin of his arms and hands. What with the shirts, ski mask, pants, and tiny boots. He was getting hot, it was time to leave.

Squeezing in to the driver's seat of the car, he reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out an old crumpled sketchpad. He went over his notes on hot wiring the vehicle. It was a Ford Anglia, the Weasleys had been foolish enough to leave it unlocked, and this young wizard had sticky fingers to say the least. "Blimey, what' a day, good thing ma and pa usually sleep in until about 3pm," hell if i'm getting up early on me big day." To the untrained eye Ron's notes were completely useless, and if you could consider Ron's eye trained, then they would have been completely useless to the trained eye too. However, His notebook had always been special.

"funny thing ab'out this ol' notepad, I can write about things I have noo prior knowledge on, and it all just makes sense." "This thing practically raised me. I wrote about how to cook, how to do laundry, how to do my schoolwork. How to never have to do any of those things, and not get in trouble." "This bad boy does it all."

You may be thinking, with a gadget this clever, Ron could be a true renaissance man, but that's where you're overestimating Ron. Ron wanted to use his notepad to become a man of the world alright, but not in the way you might expect.

Moments later, as Ron began to rev the engine, Ginnie walked cautiously towards him, the man with four shirts and a ski mask, frantically jamming his arms in to the dash of their old blue car.

"Hey Ron, is everything okay out here?"

"Ginnie go back inside, and don't tellll ANYONE what you saw out here."

"Why, did you forget the keys inside? Mom and Dad said the car is yours now, you don't have to hotwire it, and break the dash open anymore."


With that Ron took off, in a stutter, as he approached 30 mph, the fastest the old car could go.

Ginnie shook her head, "have a safe trip Ron.

Ron gained altitude and poured over his notes. They looked like nothing short of gibberish, with drawings here and there, some pertaining to the task at hand, others drawings of his friends and loved ones. They taught him to drive this old thing, despite his years of practice it all seemed foreign to him, thankfully the notepad kept him sober and on a straight path.

He wished, somewhere deep down he could have brought harry along, or the smart one, with the long hair, brown and really, really dry. yes. Ron liked that one. But now was not the time, he had something to do and he had to do it alone.

As Ron took off higher into the cold air, his eyes wild and hollow, his knuckles white, he knew the power had done something to him, the old worn notepad had drained him of what was once humanity. For everything he learned he lost something, It had begun years ago, and he liked it, choosing to gain and feeling lighter all the same.

Now flying through the foggy london air, he faded in and out, in and out, in and out. He felt tired, and before long became what scarcely resembled a shadow in the mist. Higher and higher he flew, Never to be heard from again.