"Alright, parents, now many of you know about our essay contest earlier this spring. Every student was asked to write a short essay about their hero. Our winners will be sharing those with us now," A plump older witch, Madam Brighton, the headmistress announced happily, moving aside to sit down in a large chair.
Proud parents had rolled out by the hundreds to attend the Brighton Primary Academy's End of Year Ceremony. Every one of the students, aged five to ten, was seated in chairs on the auditorium stage, beaming down at those who had come to watch them. The oldest classes, the fifth graders, had just finished talking about what excited them most about the coming year, the year in which they would attend Hogwarts.
A little girl, with two auburn pigtails and several missing teeth, got up and moved to the microphone in the center of the stage. Clutched in her thin hands was a sheet of paper with the messy scrawl of a seven-year-old. She was very white, obviously nervous, and she looked down in the front row. A petite woman, her mother, seated there smiled encouragingly, and the little girl smiled back, waving.
"My name is Angelica Weasley," she announced into the microphone, a soft lisp occurring whenever her tongue hit where her front teeth were missing. "And my paper got third place in the contest. I'm going to read it now," she sounded much rehearsed, though she was still hesitant. She breathed in and began reading off of the crumpled piece of notebook paper.
"My daddy is my hero. When I was little, he used to pick me up on his shoulders. He had big shoulders, I think. His hair was red, too, and Mummy says I got my red hair from him. He always let me sit on his lap and he liked to help Mummy tell me bedtime stories. My daddy fought during the bad time when the bad wizard was trying to hurt people like Mummy. I heard he was very brave. He and my uncle Harry were there at the last battle, too. He died," she read on steadily. It was strange to hear the story in a little girl's soft voice. Her mother had tears welled up in her eyes, and the couple beside her, a woman with a little boy on her lap and a man with a lightning bolt scar, looked equally emotional.
"Mummy says he wouldn't want us to cry a lot, but she cries a lot anyway. If my daddy were here, he would be able to stop the crying, but he isn't here. Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny try to help, but my daddy is still my hero because without him, Uncle Harry could never have gotten all the way to the bad wizard. My daddy won an Order of Merlin, First Class. Those are very special, just like he was. I think my daddy is more than just my hero. I think he should be everybody's hero because really, he did what he did for everybody not just me," she finished reading and looked up. Her eyes were clear and innocent.
Hermione, tears streaming down her face, leaned against Harry and Ginny as they pressed against her, holding her close. Angelica Weasley moved back to her chair and sat down, proud of herself for reading her paper. She did not see all the tears in the audience. She was oblivious to the power of her simple words. She was not, however, oblivious to one thing.
That sweet little girl, with big hazel eyes and auburn pigtails, knew that her daddy was a hero, and not a person anywhere could dare to disagree.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Disclaimer: None needed, right? I obviously own nothing.
Author's Note: This fic is one of those little ideas that cannot amount to anything substantial but will not leave you alone. With this idea scratching at my brain, I was unable to start the next chapter of The Hard Way, so I wrote this oneshot. Thanks for reading it, and drop a review. I like reviews. Oh, and I hope I made it clear who "my daddy" was.