Snowflakes drifted lazily from the gray December sky, melting against the car window as Harry watched them slide down in silence. The Dursleys' car rumbled through the streets of Surrey, Christmas lights reflecting in the glass — soft colors blurring together into meaningless streaks.
Christmas.
For most people, the word carried warmth, laughter, and love. For Harry, it was just another day of pretending he didn't exist.
The Dursleys weren't cruel in the way others might imagine. They didn't strike him or shout much anymore. Instead, they ignored him. They acted like he was a ghost that lingered in their house — one they tolerated but never acknowledged.
He was fed, clothed, and given chores to do, but never attention. Never affection. And Harry had long since stopped trying to earn it.
This year, Vernon had decided that Dudley deserved "a proper Christmas outing." So, naturally, they were going to Freddy Fazbear's Pizza — "the finest family entertainment center in town," as Vernon had loudly declared.
Harry hadn't been asked if he wanted to go. But when the car stopped and everyone piled out, he followed quietly, as always.
The moment they stepped inside, the smell of pizza and sugar hit him. The lights were bright, the noise overwhelming — laughter, music, the mechanical jingling of arcade games. Children darted between tables while costumed staff carried balloons and trays of cake.
Harry slipped away to the edge of the room, where it was quieter. From there, he could see them. The animatronics.
Four towering figures stood on stage under colored spotlights — Freddy, Bonnie, Chica, and Foxy. Their glossy eyes glimmered as they sang, their movements rhythmic, precise, almost lifelike.
But it was Foxy who caught his attention.
The pirate fox stood apart from the others, tucked into his own little corner of the stage. One arm replaced with a metal hook, a patch over one eye, and a grin that was just a bit too sharp.
There was something different about him — something that drew Harry in. Foxy looked… imperfect. Worn down. But still proud, still alive in his own strange way.
Harry couldn't help but smile faintly. "You look like you've been through a lot," he whispered. "But you're still standing."
He could respect that it also help that his favorite animals were foxes, wolves and snakes.
As the performance went on, Harry stayed where he was, quietly watching while the other kids played. His classmates would've thought it odd, how he preferred silence to games. But Harry wasn't like them. He didn't trust people anymore people lied, people hurt and most of all — people forgot.
He had learned long ago that trying to reach out only led to disappointment. So he stopped trying. He built walls instead, keeping everyone out.
Still, as he watched the animatronics move and sing, something stirred deep in his chest — something he hadn't felt in a long time.
What if . . . I didn't have to be alone?
He wasn't thinking of the other children or adults. He didn't want people. What he wanted was companionship without cruelty. Someone who would never mock, never turn away, never make him feel invisible.
Not machines that simply obeyed orders — that wasn't what he wanted. He wanted friends that could think and feel — real, sentient beings made not of flesh and blood, but of gears, wires, and heart.
Friends who would stay. The thought made his chest ache and warm all at once.
As he stared, his gaze drifted to a door beside the stage — a plain, gray one marked "STAFF ONLY."
He had seen a worker leave through it a few minutes ago, revealing a glimpse of shelves and what looked like animal suits hanging on racks.
Maybe that was where the animatronics were maintained — or made. A spark of curiosity ignited. If he could see how they were built… maybe he could make his own.
He hesitated. The sign was clear — no customers allowed. He know was not allowed to go back there.
But the idea wouldn't leave him and to be fair he really did not care to much for what people in authority said.
Another thing was no one was watching him anyway. As the thought crossed his mind, a strange feeling brushed over him — soft, like a warm wind passing through the air.
Unknown to Harry, his magic stirred in answer to his desire to not be seen, wrapping him in a powerful Notice-Me-Not charm.
The world seemed to shift slightly. The laughter, the noise — it all continued as before, but no one's eyes lingered on him. Not a single person noticed as Harry quietly slipped along the wall, toward the forbidden door.
The handle turned easily beneath his hand.
Inside, the room was dim. The light overhead flickered weakly, casting uneven shadows across the floor. Metal parts, wires, and plastic masks were scattered across the tables. Several old suits hung limply from hooks on the far wall, their colors faded and their seams torn.
Harry wrinkled his nose. The air was heavy with dust — and something else. A metallic tang, sharp and unpleasant, like rust mixed with something sour. He couldn't name it. But it made him put him on edge.
Still, curiosity pushed him forward.
He stepped quietly among the scattered equipment, running his fingers along a headless endoskeleton. "So this is what's inside," he murmured. "A skeleton much like most living animals and people have but made of metal instead of bone"
As he was musing this something glimmered beneath one of the old costumes — a faint shine of metal and paper. He crouched and tugged at it, pulling free a small, worn booklet. The leather cover was scuffed, the title barely readable under the dust:
"Maintenance and Assembly Notes — Fazbear Entertainment."
Harry blinked, then smiled softly. Exactly what he needed. Before he could open it, footsteps echoed faintly from the far door. Someone was coming.
Heart racing, Harry quickly tucked the booklet under his too-large jumper and slipped out the way he came. The door closed quietly behind him, sealing the smell of metal and dust away.
Back in the main room, the laughter and music washed over him again — but no one looked his way. The Dursleys were still busy at their table, Petunia doting on Dudley as if he were a prince.
Harry sat by himself in the corner, one hand resting protectively over the small book hidden against his chest. For the rest of the party, he stayed quiet. Watching. Thinking. Planning.
By the time they left, snow was falling thicker, blanketing the streets in white. Vernon and Petunia were chatting happily about Dudley's day, their voices filling the car.
Harry didn't listen. He gazed out the window at the passing lights, his reflection faint in the glass — small, tired, but smiling ever so slightly.
Under his coat, the booklet felt warm. It wasn't just a manual. He could almost feel it in his heart, it was a path to his desire.
A spark of something new — something he could build with his own hands. He mind pulling fantasy's together woven into a image of him and some animatronic living happy lives.
His mind was made up he would make friends. Real ones. Ones who would never leave him behind.