Ron Weasley: The Terrier Hero

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"The Jack Russell is . . . an extremely good working terrier, and has become enormously popular as a household pet with many people, including the elderly. However, it can be somewhat excitable and is really better being the companion of an active child."

— Joan Palmer on Jack Russell Terriers, The Illustrated Encyclopedia of Dog Breeds

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As the tawny owl flew out of the window in a single swoop, Ron stared at the letter on the kitchen floor with a mixed feeling of puzzlement and irritation. Having just awoken, part of him wanted to ignore the letter until he had at least finished his morning coffee. He didn't recognize the emblem on the front or the owl that had delivered it.

After a few minutes of gazing at the letter as though hoping it would explain itself, Ron's curiosity won out and he Summoned it with his wand.

As was his recent habit, he used a Scanning Spell to scan it for unfriendly or Dark magic. A letter with a particularly nasty jinx he had received last month made him open unfamiliar deliveries with gentle care. Finding nothing to be afraid of, he broke the seal and pulled out the letter.

As he did, a small card fell out onto the table. It looked like the one you would find in a Chocolate Frog. Before he could wonder at the oddity of this, he realized that instead of an elderly looking wizard or witch, his own face was smiling bashfully back at him.

Surely this was one of George's jokes . . .

He picked up the letter again.

Dear Mr. Weasley,

We are pleased to announce that you have been selected for this year's new Chocolate Frog Card. Your many accomplishments and heroics during the Second War are a prime example of what we look for in choosing a new magical witch or wizard for this honor.

You will find the very first one created enclosed in this letter.

Congratulations,

Billy Waynko
President of Chocolate Frogs, Inc.

Ron picked up the card again with slightly shaking fingers, staring at his picture. Him? On a Chocolate Frog Card? That was . . .

"Bloody hell," he muttered.

It had been of no surprise when Hermione was given the same honor last year. And Harry the year before that. But he had never thought. . . . He hadn't done anything, really.

"Honestly, Ron," a voice like Hermione piped up, "you haven't been exactly eating bon-bons and sitting in front of the telly, have you?"

No, he hadn't. But still. . . .

He placed the card on the table without looking at the back, leaning in his chair as a memory he had half-forgotten rose up into his brain.

"Noodle's got a way of knowing the great achievers from the normal ones."

And without soon he was thinking back many years ago on a summer day much like this one. . .

Walking down the road to Ottery St. Catchpole, Ron couldn't help the slight feeling of unease.

Mum was still having kittens about the Quidditch World Cup fiasco the night before last. Her face had seemed to go indefinitely pale and her eyes shifted to their family clock every time she walked past it, as though expecting their names to jump to 'Mortal Peril' at any second.

Ron knew that he and his siblings perhaps understood her paranoia more than Hermione and Harry could. His friends hadn't grown up with the horrific tales about You-Know-Who the way Ron had. His Uncle Fabian and Uncle Gideon had been killed during the War, and from what Bill had told them, their deaths had made Mum nearly fall to pieces.

He couldn't imagine losing Ginny or any of his brothers. Or Harry. Or Hermione.

Perhaps it was this that made him insist on accompanying Hermione when she wanted to go to the village to buy some cat food for Crookshanks. Harry was taking a nap, and it seemed too soon after the Death Eaters' drunken jaunt for her to be wandering alone. Hermione was Muggle-born and whether Ron wanted to admit it or not, Malfoy had a point that Hermione could be a walking target.

He wouldn't admit it to anyone, but the Death Eaters, the panic, the wondering if he was going to see his family, Malfoy's taunts about Hermione . . . it had scared him. Scared him far more than when Sirius Black had dragged him to the Shrieking Shack. He had tried to ignore it for Harry's sake — Hermione worried enough for both of them — but he had overheard his Mum and Dad talking about how it seemed like the war all over again, and it made him queasy.

If that had been just a piece of what the war was like . . .

Well, it's over now, he told himself. Those wizards had been pissed and they'd be stupid to try to strike again.

Still, even if technically Hermione could take care of herself — and there was no doubt that she was a very capable witch — or if Fred and George took the mickey out of him later, he wanted to be sure that she stayed okay. She was much too stubborn to worry about herself, so he would have to.

"Your mum seems better," Hermione interrupted.

"Yeah," Ron agreed. "She seems to've calmed down."

She cocked her head in a shrewd kind of way. "What about you?"

He squirmed, wondering if she had been reading his mind. He really didn't want to talk with her about what he had been feeling. It seemed . . . awkward, somehow. Besides, she did enough worrying about Harry without having to add him to her list.

"I wasn't expecting those . . . Death Eater nutters," he admitted lamely.

"No one was," she told him calmly.

"Still, I wish someone had been able to unmask Malfoy's father — I'm sure Dad would've been thrilled." He grinned at the picture of a mask being stripped away to reveal Lucius Malfoy's horrified face, followed by him being shackled and flown off to Azkaban.

"I'm sure he would've," Hermione laughed. Then her smile disappeared, and she looked away, putting a hand to her mouth as an embarrassed blush appeared on her cheeks. She had been doing that a lot, lately.

"Something wrong with your mouth, Hermione?"

The blush deepened, and she wrenched her hand away from her mouth as though she had been burned. "Erm, no. Just a — just a cold sore, that's all."

Ron shrugged.

They were on the edge of the village. It was in the middle of the afternoon, but a few people were still bustling about the shops with bags of goods dangling from their arms. A group of school children were playing marbles under the low-storied buildings and a small dog was gnawing on a stick at the street corner.

"Any idea where the pet shop is?" Hermione asked.

"Yep." When he was a kid, the Up and Down Pet Shop had been one of his favorite places in Ottery. He well remembered pressing his nose up against the glass of the shop begging his mum for one of the puppies. It wasn't a place he was likely to forget soon. "C'mon," he said, leading the way up the street.

They had only walked about a block when he felt the uncomfortable feeling of someone's stare at his back. He tightened his fist around his wand in his pocket and turned casually to look behind him.

The whole street seemed to be unaware of their presence — except for the small dog he had notice earlier. It was trotting a little ways behind them, staring directly at Ron. Seeing the redhead's look of curiosity seemed to initiate it further, and it quickened its pace.

Is that . . . ? No. No. It can't be.

Ron shook his head, and continued walking. Perhaps it was a coincidence.

They hadn't gone far when once more the hairs prickled on the back of Ron's neck, and he glanced behind him again. The dog, a terrier of some kind, had caught up enough to walk in Ron's shadow. It was white with spots of tan and brown, and was gazing intensely at Ron, as though he was a particularly interesting fire hydrant.

He stopped and the dog stopped, too. "Er . . . Hermione?"

Hermione turned. "What —?" She stopped, and her mouth fell into an "o" shape as the dog cocked its head, lowered its front body, and wagged its tail in that "I'm-an-adorable-little-doggy" way.

"It's so cute," Hermione cooed. She fell to her knees and held out her hand to the animal. "Hey there. Where did you come from?"

The dog sniffed Hermione's hand, decided she was safe, and nuzzled her palm. But it kept its gaze on Ron.

"Say hello, Ron," she prodded.

He squatted and held out his hand like Hermione had. The dog's tail wagged harder, and it lapped at Ron's palm excitedly without sniffing.

Hermione gave a little giggle. "I think he likes you."

Ron, slightly nonplussed, scratched the dog lightly behind the ears. It leaned into his fingers so hard Ron was afraid it might fall over if he pulled his hand away.

"Does he have a tag or something?" Hermione asked.

Ron checked the collar. Sure enough, a pair of metal tags hung in front of its chest. He looked at them. The first had just one word: "Noodle"; the other had an address on it.

"Noodle?" Hermione said when he showed her the tags. "That's an odd name for a Jack Russell."

Of course Hermione would know what breed it was. "It's an odd name for any dog," Ron corrected. "I reckon we should bring him home?"

Hermione nodded, and Noodle, as though understanding him, leapt up into Ron's arms before Ron could even think to stop it. Noodle wasn't heavy, but the movement had surprised him. "Bloody hell!"

She let out another small laugh, "You hold him, then."

As the two of them began looking for the address on the dog's tags, Ron couldn't help noticing some of townspeople's stares, as though they couldn't quite believe what they were seeing. He thought they must've looked like an odd pair, him carrying a dog down the street like a sack of potatoes, while Noodle licked at Hermione's hand.

About half an hour later, they stopped at a stone cottage on the edge of town. The walls looked like they had been recently been painted and a huge vegetable garden grew in the front. Noodle barked happily at the sight of it.

"Took long enough to find your house, boy," Ron told the dog as they walked up the cobblestone pathway to the threshold. Noodle had been growing increasingly heavier.

The simple knocker was so low on the darkly-colored door that Hermione barely had to lift up her arm to use it.

For a few minutes, no one answered. Just when Ron was going to suggest she try again, there was a shuffling from inside. The door opened, and a tiny, grey-haired old man peered at them as he bent over an exotic-looking cane.

Ron cleared his throat. "I'm sorry to disturb you, sir, but —"

"Noodle!" the old man cried, grabbing the dog away from him in a surprisingly quick movement. "Noodle, what have I said about taking off like that? Papa was worried sick!" The dog licked the man's face imploringly, and his owner laughed. Then he looked up, as though noticing Ron and Hermione for the first time, and his bespectacled eyes widened in disbelief. "You? You too brought Noodle home?"

"Er, yeah," Ron replied, surprised.

"And — and he let you carry him all the way?"

"Didn't have much of a choice — he was the one who jumped on me."

"He —? Well, this is most peculiar." The man placed Noodle on the floor and shook both their hands. "Where are my manners? I'm Jacques Lessur, and you are . . . ?"

"I'm Hermione Granger," Hermione piped up. "And this is Ron Weasley."

"A pleasure, a pleasure," Lessur said. "I'm sorry, you'll have to pardon my earlier shock. Noodle is usually a bit. . . ." He laughed slightly. "Well, a bit cranky when it comes to strangers — won't let them come near him."

"What?" Ron asked, glancing at the innocent-looking dog. "But . . . he was the one who followed me."

"He loves women, Lord bless him, but men . . . not so much." The old man shrugged. "But, well, there must've been something he liked about you."

He cocked his head at Ron, and he looked so much like Noodle in that moment that Ron had to bite back the urge to laugh.

"Noodle's got a way of knowing the great achievers from the normal ones," he said softly. "He sniffs out people with potential better than anyone I know. And the way he's taken to you . . ." He turned to Hermione. "This young man has greatness in him — don't let him go."

Hermione blinked. "Sir —?"

"Won't say no more," the old man interrupted in sing-song voice. "Thank you for bringing Noodle back. If you're ever in need of any vegetables, just drop by. I've got to give Noodle his late lunch. Have a good day, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger."

Startled by his quick dismissal, Hermione and Ron barely chorused, "Good day," before Mr. Lessur insistently closed the door on them.

They looked at each other, and Ron shrugged as they made their way off the property.

As they walked to the pet shop, Ron was quiet. He wanted to believe the old man, really — he had said some really rather flattering things, after all. But . . . now that he thought about it, could he believe a man who rated a wizard by how much his dog liked them? More likely than not, the man was off his rocker.

"I've never met a man like him," Hermione said finally.

Ron shrugged.

"He seemed to like you a lot, though." She smiled briefly.

He felt his ears turned red and he mumbled, "Don't make fun. . . ."

"I'm not making fun," she insisted, sounding affronted.

"Well, he definitely was," he said, almost irritably. "Or he isn't all there. 'Noodle sniffs out great achievers' — what rubbish."

"It's not rubbish, Ron," Hermione said hotly, placing a hand on his arm to stop him. "And he wasn't making fun. I know he really believes it. And . . . and so do I, for that matter."

He turned to her, a scoff halfway to his throat, when something in her face stopped him. He had never seen that look before — so . . . open. And instead of a dismissal, he asked in a soft voice, "Really?"

She nodded, gazing into his face with the same open look. "I've always thought so."

And somehow, he believed her.

He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. "Thanks, Hermione."

Hermione smiled, and Ron felt something warm burn in his chest. He had felt it before, in happy moments all throughout their friendship, but this time it was hotter, and . . . stronger, somehow.

Ron grinned as he shook himself from the memory. He wouldn't admit it until years later, but in that moment, his feelings towards Hermione, which had perhaps always been buried beneath the bickering and annoyances, began to surface, though he was too young to understand it. And a couple of years later, when it unexpectedly became the happy thought that helped him cast a Patronus for the first time, he almost wasn't surprised to see a Jack Russell Terrier spring out of his wand.

And the old man hadn't been wrong, after all, hadn't he? Ron had done a lot of things in the years since then. Things he was proud of.

Before he could consider reading the back of the card, the door to his apartment opened, and his girlfriend walked through the door, a bag of groceries in her arms. He wasn't surprised. Sometimes Hermione liked to pop in and make him something to practice her cooking skills, and Ron was a willing consultant.

She hung up her purse. "Oh, wonderful," she said, seeing him at the table. "You're up. I thought I'd make you breakfast. Susan just gave me a new recipe for French toast that I thought you might like to —"

"Hermione," he interrupted, getting to his feet. She stopped and looked at him. "Look what just came by owl."

"Ron, what —?" But as she came closer and recognized what it was, she gave a small scream and leapt into his arms, knocking the wind out from him.

"I knew it! I knew it! I knew when I was asked about your favorite things that something was up! Oh, Ron —!"

Ron burst into laughter when he had caught his breath. "Merlin's pants, Hermione!"

"Well?" she demanded, after she had thoroughly kissed the stuffing out of him. "What did they say?"

He sat in the nearest chair and pulled Hermione onto his lap. "I don't know," he admitted.

"You mean you haven't read it?"

"No . . . you do it."

"Ron, don't you —?"

"No, I want you to." For some reason, listening to Hermione's voice read it would make a good thing even better.

She looked at him curiously as Ron handed her the card. She looked and spoke with the same intensity used when she read Hogwarts, a History.

"'A wizard mostly praised for his part in the destruction of You-Know-Who, Weasley is also known for expanding joke shop Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes into a global corporation with his brother, George, his tireless work as an Auror in the re-establishing of the Wizarding community in Britain, and the capture of many escaped Death Eaters and criminals. Weasley enjoys chess and Quidditch.'"

She looked up with her face beaming. "Ron, this is wonderful."

Ron grinned at her. Her excitement was contagious. "It's my finest hour, that's for sure. 'Cept when I kissed you, of course."

Hermione gave him a brief look that said, I kissed you, you prat — but to his surprise let it slide.

Instead, she smirked at him slyly. "They paint you as a very respectable wizard, Mr. Weasley," she said, placing the card on the table. "But they haven't mentioned everything."

"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow at her.

"Oh yes." She wrapped her arms around his neck. "You cast a remarkable Patronus" — she kissed his nose — "you fought amazingly in the Final Battle" — she gave his neck a peck — "and you've managed to put up with a know-it-all who loves you dearly." She rewarded him by giving Ron a long, slow, passionate kiss on the mouth that made the blood practically fly below his belt-line.

Oh boy.

It was a long time before she pulled back, but instead of getting to the start of things, Hermione gave him a proud smile, her eyes shining.

Well, he liked that, too.

"Of course," Hermione added firmly, her fingernail grazing irresistibly over his swollen lips, "you know that even if you hadn't done any of those things, you'd still be a great wizard. My great wizard."

Ron gazed at her. Merlin, he loved this witch. She was the one who had believed in him even before he had done anything that could be considered an accomplishment. She was the one who helped him with his Patronus and didn't laugh at the shape when he finally cast one. She was the one who Ron always wanted to take care of, even if she didn't need it.

She was the only witch he had ever considered spending the rest of his life with.

And it hit him like a bolt of lightning what he had to do. Without planning it, without really thinking it through, words slipped from his lips.

"I think there's one more accomplishment I want to achieve with that know-it-all . . ."

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"Man is not the sum of what he has but the totality of what he does not yet have, of what he might have."

— Jean-Paul Sartre

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A/N: It's been a while since I wrote Hermione and Ron together — I feel a bit rusty.

This story is slightly different than the other ones, since the Patronus is only mentioned briefly, but I wanted to give a specific reason as to why Ron's Patronus was a Jack Russell Terrier.

Thank you to those who took the time to write a review — they got me through the rollercoaster that was my first week back at college. Reviews make me happy!

A round of applause for my wonderful betas queenb23 (who just won Beta-of-the-Year — you go girl!), redsioda, and shiiki.