It was funny how life worked. Something that seemed so insignificant and basic could change a life.

For Ron, it could have been the fateful meeting on the train where he met his future best friend Harry Potter.

It could have been the desicion to go warn Hermione.

Learning about Nicholas Flamel.

Just going to Hogwarts.

But in truth, what changed his life was a simple day.

He was four. His mum had been commenting how Ron needed to work on his letters, that he should ask Bill or Charlie or Percy to help him write clearer. Neater.

Being the youngest boy and wanting his mum's approval, he did just that.

He first asked Bill who was trying to find his broom. Bill told him that he just needed to write letters more. Practice apparently made perfect. And perfect letters made perfect words.

He then asked Charlie who was looking over a book on dragons he had gotten after saving up his money. Charlie brushed him off and said to practice his words, any that he knew until they were legible.

Lastly, he asked Percy who was trying to get his shoes back from the twins. Percy turned to face Ron after the twins slipped out of sight. With as much calmness and clarity as he could, he told Ron to write down everything that happened around him. Ron didn't get to ask what he meant as he tore off after the twins for his shoes.

With the three brothers' words in mind, he practiced his letters, a few words and even wrote a quick sentence about Percy chasing the twins. Hearing his mum yell, he continued writing her words, stumbling and missing a few, and even misspelling, but also writing what he thought was going on.

The paper looked as though two chickens had gotten into a fight atop of it. But it was a start.

Like clockwork, he hoped to impress his mum with something he was good at. He practiced his letters and his words everyday, and wrote what he heard and thought to get more practice in.

He was seven when he got to show his mum his much clearer and cleaner writing he was proud of. She hardly noticed as she dealt with the twins' most recent prank. He watched as his mother moved in her usual flurry fashion until he walked away, back to his room in the attic. He didn't cry. His face grew blank. Crying would get him nowhere. He was supposed to not cry. Fred and George picked on him when he cried.

He fidgeted a little bit, his fingers kept twitching needing to do something. Without thought, he grabbed his parchment he had been practicing on and an inked quill and began writing. He felt his mild dissapointment ebb away.

He didn't know then, but he would continue the practice at least once a week, sometimes more. Writing what was going on in life, his thoughts and emotions on it.

He never showed his family. He never showed his friends. It became something private he would do. Like the twins, pranks or Percy's studies, Harry's alone brooding or Hermione's studying. When the world wasn't focused on him, he would let a part of it out. Even if it was just to parchment.

He did it for years.

He even had a fresh leather bound book filled with parchment he found buried in Bill's old stuff for his first year. Okay, so maybe he shouldn't've gone throug Bill's old things. But it wasn't like he was using the small book. So, there wasn't really any harm in taking it.

He wrote good times and bad ones. All until the defeat of the dark lord himself, Voldemort.

Seven years of thoughts, promises, regrets and name calling. All written in a slew of journals in old bags. If he had really thought about it, he would have removed, and hidden the journals in places he would think no one would find them. But alas, he could be incredibly lazy when the mood struck him.

It was so bad, he'd grab any bag he swore had some pocket change in it and just haul it with him wherever he was going rather than emptying it.

It was one of those simple things that changed his life, yet again.

He didn't notice he had left the bag at the three broomsticks after he paid for his meal.

He had no idea that someone had peaked inside to find his school journals he told himself he'd take care of later.

He wasn't aware that the person actually read the unedited thoughts of one Ronald Weasley.

And with the cleanup from the war, the rounding up of Death Eater, and the auror training, he never had a chance to really notice, a suspicious amount of attention not only the famed Harry and Hermione, but he himself, was gaining.

Nor the filled Flourish and Botts or the numerous letters from Neville he just had no time to read.

Well, if it was important, he'd floo Ron surely.

"I can't believe I'm selling a book here that isn't about pranks," George commented to a grinning Neville.

"It is a good book. And I have a feeling it'll do well in your shop."

"Hope you're right. Fred's probably turning in his grave at the very nerve of a book being here."

Neville just kept up his smile. George had trusted the meek yet famous Gryffindor with little hesitation. After all, their families were friends and he had slayed Voldemort's snake.

So, George did order about fourty copies of a book on Neville's recommendation, to sell in the shop.

"You might want to keep a copy for yourself," Neville suggested, "It's quite a good read."

"Then it should sell well. Let's get these on the shelf, shall we?"

"Alright."

The box was large and extremely heavy. George stumbled a bit in shock.

"Geez, bit heavy aren't they? You sure there are only fourty in here?"

"Absolutely."

George grumbled as he opened the box with Neville behind. There was a pause as George lifted a book from the box and read the title.

"Going to school with the Boy who Lived?"

Geroge looked at Neville who was trying to hide his laugh.

"Did you write this?"

"Maybe you should read and find out."

"Oh get out of here!"

Neville did just that, leaving George with fourty large books.

George would later deny he had spent the rest of the day, that night, and the following day, reading through the monstrosity of a book.

When it was finished, his eyes were red from a lack of sleep and a bounty of tears.

He wasted no time taking the book back to the burrow.

He knew a few... Other people who would want to read this.

Months went by with Ron still writing, this time in his life, over jokes about when Bill would be a dad, his auror training with Harry and Hermione and having to explain to gawking individuals that Harry and Hermione, though gifted were just ordinary magical being's like himself. He didn't understand the giggling but went with it.

He also swore that there were some witches... Flirting with him. He was dating Hermione for Merlin's sake! Usually, a guy would hit on her and he'd "defend" her from their advances. Hermione didn't seem to take too kindly to the girls doing... Well, flirting, Ron really didn't know what else to call it.

All through fall after a summer of recovery and fresh wounds, into the beginning bleeding of winter with Christmas on its way.

Ron had no idea that he was a famous author rivaling the once popular Gilderoy Lockheart. He had no idea that each member of his family, including Harry and Hermione, had also read the book.

And he had no possible idea that they each were giving him the same gift, a copy of his book... With some minor commentary from the sender.

My sister and I were talking in the car and somehow this popped up.

Now, I have no internet at home so this can't be as long as I would hope. But I'll let your imagination do the talking.

The idea was that Ron could have written a book about, essentially, going to school with Harry and what he was thinking.

I may eventually (just a possibility) write different people reacting to certain moments within the books. Like the car stealing and meeting Aragog.

But as it currently stands, this is all there is and there will not be anymore for quite some time if ever.

I hope you all enjoyed and will grace this story with your opinion of it.