A/N: This story will span Scorpius Malfoy's first year at Hogwarts. Any and all connections to the activist group "The Harry Potter Alliance" is completely incidental but humorous non the less (I admit, I had forgotten about them and wondered why the name sounded familiar).

I blame my subconscious brilliance.

Summary: Scorpius Malfoy loves his family, and he loves his home. He also loves Affy's chicken sandwiches. However, during his last Christmas before his eleventh birthday he wishes for friends. When his wish is granted, his life will never be the same again.

Disclaimer: You'll never believe this but I am actually not Rowling. Yeah, I was just as shocked when I found out.

Christmas day, 2016, Malfoy Manor

It's not that Scorpius didn't like Christmas. Christmas was very nice, with lights, colours, smells and food that all appealed to him. It's very hard to not like Christmas when you are lucky enough to live in a rich family in a big house with (mostly) able house-elves.

The problem, Scorpius thought, is that the house is too big and we are too few.

He had come to the conclusion after rummaging through a few boxes he shouldn't touch in the attic where he shouldn't be. In one labelled "General photographs, not family" he found a few pictures that must be almost thirty years old, if the notes on the back of them were anything to go by. These pictures in particular showed, in fading colour, how a veritable horde of richly dressed people milled through the equally richly decorated rooms of Malfoy Manor. Politicians and pureblood nobility, if Scorpius knew his family right (and he was quite sure he did – he had known them for all of his almost eleven year old life after all).

The decorations were, if anything, even more expansive and luxurious now compared to then. But only the five Malfoys and the two house-elves were there to enjoy it.

Absent-mindedly he looked over photo after photo. Most of them were of influential people of great importance. One had the writing "Fudge, Minister for Magic, and Mr. Nott – 1992" on the backside. Scorpius frowned at it and guessed that "Mr Nott" must be the grandfather of the Nott sisters. He had met them twice, for play dates, but had never gotten along with them. Truth be told, he had clearly heard Venetia Nott say that she never wanted to come back last time they left.

So far it seemed like their father had complied on that wish...

The next photo must have been misplaced, because it clearly showed his grandfather sitting in the drawing room surrounded by – Scorpius flipped the photo over – Mr and Mrs Bulstrode, Mr Crabbe, Mr Goyle, Mr Yaxley and Mr Snape, all in front of a hearty fire holding glasses filled with amber liquor.

A few hours earlier, Scorpius had seen his grandfather sitting in the same armchair, holding a glass full of amber liquor. Alone.

Scorpius had once, on a very boring day, tried to count all the rooms in the manor. He had gotten to twenty (twenty five if you include the bathrooms, twenty eight if you count the walk-in closets) before Affy, the younger and more skittish of their house-elves, cried that he shouldn't wander around the uninhabited parts of the house.

Now he had in his hands proof that at some time his home had at least on occasion been bustling with life. Photo after photo showing that once upon a glorious time, his family hadn't been social outcasts. He wished that he had been there...

"Young master!"

Scorpius veritably bounced up at the sound of Affy's panicked shriek, dropping the photos in the process.

"Oh young master knows he shouldn't be here, mistress Astoria has been so worried for young master – and look at young master's clothes! Dusty all over!"

Scorpius grimaced as the tiny elf fussed about correcting his clothes. He barely managed to sneak one of the photos into his pocket before Affy gathered up the rest and stocked them away. Though more than anything else, she twitched. He didn't know why but Affy always twitched. No matter if she was happy or sad, it was just the way she was. Scorpius liked her anyway, even when she was at his heels like a prison guard.

"I just wanted to look at the pictures, there's nothing dangerous up here anyway. Only dust and boxes."

A smile flittered over the elf's face – or maybe it was another spasm – but then she looked more stern and tsked at him.

"Young master knows that he isn't allowed to be here. Affy shouldn't have let young master wander off like this. Oh, young master, and Metty who had hoped for a peaceful Christmas – young master knows that Metty always worries so much for young master."

Metty was their other house-elf. She was so old that she usually was left to do the easier tasks in the manor. She had been looking after Scorpius' grandfather when he was young and Scorpius was quite sure that she didn't worry all that much about him. Metty worried more about dust and portraits of dead people.

Scorpius didn't protest as he was led down the stairs from the attic, hand held gently by the elf as if she thought he would run away. He wouldn't though, not any more than he would try his luck with a tantrum. He had tried that several times when he was younger and though it had given him all the attention and affection he could wish for it never solved what he now realised was the one big problem.

Shuffling though deserted halls and closed rooms containing covered furniture, Scorpius started to sketch up this odd desire to himself, tried to put words to what it was he wanted. His thoughts drifted to photographs of nameless crowds, bustling guests, costly dress-robes and light discussion between people other than his relatives.

Glaring at the utterly unappreciated gilded greenery that was the main theme this year he made up his mind.

Scorpius Malfoy wanted his home to live again.