Moments before dying, Lucius Malfoy had been seething with anger. He'd just broken Harry's clumsy curse and had probably intended to murder his own son. He'd been so sure of himself, and yet moments later, he was dead from a simple defensive spell.
Harry clamped both hands over his mouth and bit his lip. He was dimly aware of his father saying something supportive, but the words were nothing but a soothing buzz in his ears.
Harry didn't need soothing, though. He wasn't distraught. What he hid behind his hands was nothing short of a grin. His furious swallowing wasn't to prevent sicking up, but to stop the peals of laughter threatening to leap out from his throat.
Lucius, dead beyond all doubt.
Harry was so happy he was almost giddy with it.
It wasn't appropriate to burst out laughing though, and he knew it. Reaching inward toward the fortifying fires of his Occlusion, he somehow managed to fight back the urge to giggle. He didn't want his father to think he was cruel. Or hysterical. Or barmy.
"Well, I guess all of you were right about him being dead," Harry said from behind his hands, his voice tight with self-control. "You don't need me here to, uh, pose him, right? I need to use the loo."
As Snape gently pulled Harry's hands from his face, the boy clamped his lips into a thin line. "Are you well, Harry? I know this must be terribly distressing for you. It's all right to feel upset--"
"I, uh, just need a few minutes to myself, yeah?"
The minute Snape nodded, Harry fled the room. Of course he had no idea where he was going in this house, and he certainly didn't want to wander it. Choosing a door at random, he ducked inside what turned out to be a small library. Harry leaned against the closed door, shaking with exhaustion, as he let the grin he'd been repressing split across his face. Ha! Lucius was dead! Forever and ever and ever. Harry couldn't help it; he started laughing quietly.
Part of him knew this just wasn't right, of course. He wasn't supposed to be delighted that he'd killed a man. Killing wasn't supposed to feel good.
But it did. Or at least, knowing that Malfoy was dead felt good. The entire situation was surreal. He never had to worry about this man again. He and Draco were both safe--Severus too--from anything Lucius Malfoy could cook up. It was an overwhelming relief. He saw again in his mind's eye that vision of Lucius turning from stone to dead flesh.
Ding Dong, the witch is dead, he thought to himself, the words following the tune from the song. Well, not a witch, but wicked wizard doesn't quite work. Laughing a little, Harry started singing softly, making up words as he went along. "Ding Dong, the wiz is dead, the wiz is dead, the wiz is dead. Ding Dong, the wicked wiz is dead . . ."
Pushing off from the door, Harry did a clumsy approximation of a little jig before slumping into one of the small upholstered chairs surrounding a long table.
The chair moved a little as he sat. For one instant, Harry was afraid it would attack him. But then he realised that it had merely swivelled 'round a bit. Since he was too tired to dance for joy, he decided to expend his giddiness that way. Pushing with his feet, Harry set the chair to spinning as fast as it could. Dizziness overtook him as he hummed the cinema song again and again.
Yes, Lucius Malfoy was dead. The sadistic bastard would never again grin as Harry screamed in pain. He wouldn't get to humiliate Harry before a leering audience. He'd never blind him, or burn him, or make him bleed He wouldn't torture Draco either, or warp him into a dark wizard, or feed his prejudices, or manipulate his fears. Lucius Malfoy would never again infiltrate Hogwarts with his evil, or bend the Board of Governors and the Ministry to his malicious will. He'd never threaten Severus or even kick another house-elf. The evil bastard was dead, dead, dead.
Ding Dong, the wicked wiz is dead . . .
Harry wasn't sure how long he spent all by himself in the library, but by the time he heard his father calling for him from down the hall, he felt more than a little high. Stopping the chair at last, Harry closed his eyes against the image of the room still spinning around him. His heart was hammering like he'd been playing Quidditch all day. He staggered toward the door, waiting until his balance returned before he opened it.
Snape was pacing in the hallway. When Harry stepped out, the man looked at him appraisingly, one eyebrow raised in question.
Harry felt his face heating a bit. "I . . . uh, couldn't find the loo."
"Yes, it would be difficult with all those books in the way," drawled Snape.
Pushing past his father, Harry muttered that he'd just needed some time alone. Then, hoping to get off the subject, he added, "Are you all done with Malfoy?"
"We are," said Snape, falling in beside him as they walked. His voice still sounded concerned, but Harry figured his lack of any comment about that meant he was respecting Harry's need to drop it. "All that remains is for your wanded Petrificus to be reapplied."
When Harry returned to the small parlour with his father, he was surprised to see Lucius standing. The dead wizard appeared to be staring into the distance, his chin held high but his face completely passive. He was now wearing a hooded cloak which completely concealed what Harry suspected was quite a severe haircut.
Malfoy appeared to be holding his cane, but one side of his cloak covered the top of it, along with his right hand. Of course. Harry had destroyed the wand that used to sit in the top of the cane. No silver snake-head. Rather than try to fashion one that might not fool an onlooker who knew what Lucius' cane looked like, they'd hidden the top of it.
Well, if they had to do this, they might as well make a good job of it. Harry appreciated their attention to detail, but was a bit confused to see that Lucius' other hand was reaching forward, extending a thin book as if in offering. He couldn't help but think of Tom Riddle's diary. Snorting slightly, he decided not to ask.
"If you're ready then, Harry," said Snape in a calm voice, "we require your special skills for the final transformation."
Harry wondered a bit about that, remembering Draco changing his textbook to a small rock and back. And if his brother could manage that trick, then surely . . . "Can't you do it, Dad? You can transfigure stuff to stone, can't you?"
The Potions Master frowned. "Volume is an issue in this case. As well as simultaneity. I haven't the requisite talent to transfigure body, clothing, and props all of different base materials, at the same time. Nor to do it with the thoroughness and permanence your spell would have."
Harry blushed a bit, unsure why he was the one embarrassed. It seemed odd having power greater than his father's. But then again, if they were powers the Dark Lord himself knew not, it was a bit much to expect Severus to have them. "Um . . . what about the headmaster?"
Dumbledore's beard swayed as he shook his head. "Alas, no, my boy. Traditional transfiguration is notoriously unreliable for transforming deceased individuals. Were this not so, this type of artistic memorial might even be commonplace."
Harry had to fight back an urge to say Ewwwwww.
The headmaster gave him a knowing glance. "Even more likely, the skill would be used to cover up murders on a regular basis. Light magic does not allow for such activities. Therefore for me to duplicate what you accomplished with ease would require a lengthy and difficult Dark Arts endeavor."