Because I think even Lucius Malfoy has some good in him. Characters are from Harry Potter (I know, big surprise), title is from Wicked.
No one mourns the wicked. They only got what they deserve. That's what anyone will tell you. It's certainly true now. No one mourns the fading of the bright morning star, Lucius Malfoy. Even his son is more angered than grieved, and the rest of his "friends" scramble in his leftovers with obscene joy. Lucius Malfoy is gone, and I seem to be the only one who remembers him as anything other than the cruel, hard man society makes him out to be. I am biased, you say. Of course I speak for him; I'm his wife, aren't I? But if he was the man you want to believe he was, not even a man, but a cold, hard puppet-master, cruel and unfeeling, wouldn't his wife be the first to gloat in his downfall, the first to dance with delight at the idea of him locked away in a dungeon with only his worst memories as company?
But you all forget the reason he was free for so long. You're all so quick to forget his presence, his power, his charisma, the way you turned and looked at him when he entered a room, the way he had of raising a single eyebrow that would leave you in a quivering heap at his feet. You forget the incandescent beauty of his face and body, the way he had of catching your heart and mind when he spoke, the way the world seemed a lighter, better place when he smiled at you. He will not smile any more, now.
And then there are the things you don't know. The way he would spend hours, sometimes, on summer days, sitting in the garden playing with his infant son, or on a rainy day, get dusty helping little Draco explore the attics. You don't know the way he would religiously, every Halloween, visit every one of our tenants, listen to their concerns, and give all their children a sweet for the holiday. You don't know the way he loved the Malfoy estate with a passion never shown in public, the way he devoted his entire life to ensure that the estate remained, that the Manor remained, that Malfoy ruled, as Malfoy had always ruled, in that country. And you don't know the way he loved a girl more than five years his junior, and was unfailingly gentle with her. And you don't know the way his voice sounded when said, "My pretty one," with a caress in it, in a way I can never reproduce. And you don't know a thousand kindnesses, carefully hidden from public eye, that made Lucius Malfoy more than a simple villian.
You, in your wisdom, have declared him wicked, and he might have been. But I still mourn him. Justice may be blind, but I am not.