A/N: For those of you that were curious, Luter Quaesitor means 'the otter investigator', or 'the otter chaser'. Enjoy the story!
A Jack Russel Terrier. A bloody Jack Russel Terrier.
You know, it really goes to show how much I was looking forward to mastering the Patronus charm. Harry could do it since third year and now that we've started Dumbledore's Army, he taught it to us. And I was looking forward to it. Imagine it- me, Ron Weasley, excited to learn. After practicing for ages, all I get is a yapping dog. Brilliant.
Harry says that dogs are neat. "Sirius' is a dog," he repeated over and over again, trying to cheer me up. Yeah, a big black dog who could take on a werewolf. Not a miniscule terrier. Harry can't talk, anyway. His is a giant stag. That's neat. Mine is just stupid.
Deciding to take a page out of Hermione's book, I went to the library- ugh, I know, but it had to be done- to find out more about Jack Russel Terriers. Apparently they're 'cheerful and devoted'. Devoted to what, might I ask? Devoted to being bloody lame? They chase otters, apparently. Just goes to show how barmy my Patronus is. They say that your Patronus is an outward reflection of your soul. Hm.
So you can only imagine my irritation when Hermione strolls up to me during breakfast the next morning and asks me if I got the Patronus charm down yet.
"Yeah. 'Bout time, I reckon." I said as I spooned porridge into my mouth. "Wha'bout ooh?" I asked with a mouthful of my breakfast.
Hermione winced. "Talk with your mouth closed, please." she wrinkled her nose.
"Sorry," I grinned, making sure I was still chewing my food. Ah. Nothing makes me feel better than getting Hermione to throw a hissy fit. Not a big one, mind you. I'm not daft enough to encourage those on purpose. Riling her up just a bit is a nice way to start the day, though.
"So?" she pressed, ignoring my antics altogether.
"So, what?"
"What's your Patronus? Didn't you say you did one last night?" she asked, eyes alight with excitement only learning can cause her.
"A dog." I said simply, hoping she'd leave it alone and I could eat in peace.
"Oh!" she squealed. "Like Sirius'!"
Not really. I wasn't going to correct her, though. I may be thick, but I don't want to look it, especially in front of her. Or anyone, I mean.
"What breed of dog?" she asked a moment later.
Oh, bloody Merlin.
"Jack Russel Terrier," I grumbled a few moments later.
She blinked.
"Alright," I said moodily. "don't laugh. What's yours, a book or something?"
"No," she sniffed indignantly, though I could tell she was hiding a smile. "it's an otter."
Hm. 'Jack Russel Terriers have been known to chase otters'.
Maybe they have the right idea.