happened to Granddad, hed have felt something, wouldnt he?

Harry had gathered all three of them into an embrace, and James could feel his dads cheek on his shoulder. It had felt hot. Now, as James watched his grandma and Uncle Bill approach the casket, he could barely grope around the edges of this sudden, monumental grief. His throat ached from holding it in. His eyes burned and he blinked yet again, forcing back the tears. He was ashamed to let it all out, and yet it felt wrong to hold it in. He was torn in the middle. Why did Granddad have to die of a stupid heart attack, of all things? Great wizards just didnt die of such things, did they? This was the man whod faced Voldemorts snake and survived to tell of it. How could a man whod fought the most vicious villains of all time, whod made such terrible sacrifices, have died so stupidly in the end? The unfairness of it was like a weight of stones on James heart. Hadnt Granddad earned a reprieve from something like this? Didnt he deserve at least a few more years to watch his grandchildren grow up? He was going to miss James first year on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Hed not attend Georges and Angelinas wedding, nor know the names of their children. Hed never unwrap his Muggle socket wrench set, never use it to finish the homemade wings on his prize Ford Anglia. It would sit there in the garage, half-painted and with one headlight still hanging out, until it rusted and lost whatever soul Granddad had given it. Nobody else cared about it. Eventually, it would be towed away somewhere and disposed of. Buried. At the end of the aisle, Harry stood up, helping Ginny to her feet. Lily and Albus stood as well, but James remained seated. He stared straight ahead, his cheeks burning. He simply couldnt do it. After a moment, Ginny led Albus and Lily up the aisle to the casket. James felt his dad sit back down next to him. Neither tried to talk to each other, but James felt a hand on his back. It comforted him a little. But just a little. A few minutes later, the room was almost entirely empty. James blinked and looked around. Hed barely noticed everyone trickling away, heading outside into the blinding summer sun. Harry still sat next to him. James glanced up at him, studying his dads face for a moment, and then lowered his eyes. Together, they stood and walked up the aisle. James had never been to a funeral before, but hed heard about one. Albus namesake, Dumbledore the Headmaster, had meant a terrible lot to his dad. Hed heard about how, at Dumbledores funeral, Fawkes the phoenix had suddenly flown overhead and the tomb had briefly, gloriously, burst into flames. As James approached his granddads casket, he wished something like that would happen. James hadnt known Dumbledore, but how could that old man have been nobler than his granddad? Why wouldnt something glorious and beautiful like that happen for Arthur Weasley? And yet, sadly, James knew it wouldnt. He climbed the steps to the casket and looked in. He couldnt have done it if his dad hadnt been there with him, with his big hand on James shoulder. Granddad looked the same, but different. His face was wrong, somehow. James couldnt see specifically what it was, and then he realized: Granddad was just dead. Thats all. Suddenly, shockingly, a memory leapt into James head. In it, he saw Granddad sitting on a stool out in the old family garage, holding a much younger James on his knee, showing him a toy aeroplane. He held it up in front of young James wondering eyes and made it fly back and forth over the workbench, imitating jet noises. James hadnt known it at the time, but he saw it now in his memory: Granddad was making the plane fly backwards, tail-first. He smiled down at the boy James, his eyes twinkling. Its like a 25