I just want to start out by saying I love you guys! Thank you so much to everyone who left a review; I read all of them, and I love hearing what you all think of my story!

Addressing why William isn't the villain in this story: I didn't want to use the same character, since if I incorporated him I would have had to add in the missing children, which wasn't what I had planned when I started writing this story. I also just don't think that Dave Miller is usually incorporated as a separate character in all that many fics other than as William's alternate identity, which doesn't fit into my story. I also just wanted to set him up as his own thing, ya know?

I also understand that the first few chapters are a bit jarring, as that was me throwing ideas at a wall when figuring out how to start the story. It's too late to go back though, since the formatting is such a pain on mobile. If I ever make a rewrite of this, or make a different story later, I'll be sure to make the chapters longer and flow into each other better. Thank you for sticking with me and reading through the choppiness of those chapters!

And now, we have a new character! The Puppet!

Don't forget (Tryhardninja feat. Not A Robot)

"What goes around, comes around, 'round, 'round,

Goes around, comes around, 'round, 'round.

You know what they say about dirty lies?

Yeah, that karma don't forget, then you die!"

"Hello?"

The puppet-like figure stood over him, unmoving.

"Uhhh, hi?" Harry started, trying to save face as he clumsily staggered to his feet. Which is a little harder than you'd think, especially if one was stuck in a seven foot tall rabbit suit. "It's… nice to meet you?"

Then it moved. And chose to latch itself onto his front, head tilted upwards, hugging him.

"OhmygoshI'msosorry," it said in a girl's voice, white pupils darting frantically within the holes in the mask. "Are you okay? I wasn't trying to scare you, I swear!" Then the puppet moved away from him, trying to give him some space.

Having finally balanced himself, Harry listened to the living puppet as she (it sounded like a girl) quickly apologized and asked if he was alright.

"Y-yeah! I'm okay, I just fell! It's nothing to worry about!" he reassured the puppet, patting himself on the chest with his open palms. "See? Nothing's broken." Usually, saying that nothing was broken would refer to broken bones, but in this case Harry knew his bones were probably broken anyways, so he referred to the robotic parts of his new body. "So, who're you?"

"Oh! I'm Emma! But I heard the people that come by in the afternoons just call me 'The Marionette.'" The girl shrugged, "It's kind of weird, but I guess I just have two names now! What about you? What's your name? Do you have two of them too?"

It took him a few seconds to process all that information, but Harry tried to respond as best he could.

"Umm, my name is Harry, and I don't think I have another name… should I?" He was a little nervous; what if she didn't want to be friends with him because he didn't have another name? He fiddled with the ends of his fingers, hoping for a good response.

"Well, not necessarily," she huffed, "but if you did, then we'd match, and how cool would that be?" She had ended her sentence in an excited tone, and that was enough to convince Harry that he wanted to match too. "So, do you want one?"

"Yeah!" He cheered, grinning with his mask. He eagerly asked, "How do we start?" This made Emma pause for a moment before she started talking again.

"Well, mine is based on my body's design, so yours should be too. Do you know what your costume's name is?" Thinking that over, Harry thought it made sense, so he told her.

"It's 'Spring Bonnie,'" he started, "but I don't want to keep the Bonnie part. It'll make everyone think I'm a girl when I'm really a boy!" Harry deflated a bit at the end. He didn't want to get teased for having a girl's name, and if he was going to pick something out, he wanted it to be something that would be easy to say and spell. Preferably one word, as having a name with two words would be a hassle to write out.

"Well, if you don't want to be called Bonnie, I guess we'll just have to find something else about you to make into your name." She paused for a moment before continuing. "Do you mind if I look at you for ideas?" Harry was surprised by this, but allowed it.

"Yeah, that's fine. Just be careful please. I don't want anything to break."

And so, with permission, Emma began to examine him, walking around him in a circle to see every angle. She made a 'hmmm' noise, putting her balled hand to her chin in thought. Then she did something unexpected.

"H-hey!" He said, surprised. Then he pulled the outer cloth and metal face back over his own. "What are you doing?"

She replied, "I'm just trying to see what's inside you. I can see the red stuff between the yellow, but I couldn't see what it was." Then she took a few seconds to think. "I did see a face though."

"Oh…" he trailed off, unsure of what to say in his discomfort.

"That face looked kind of like a boy." Emma said, a little quieter this time. "Is it yours?"

He started to look down at the floor, before sighing and saying uncomfortably, "Yes, that's my face." He was getting nervous again, but asked the question anyway. "Does it look bad?" He immediately cringed, because dead bodies don't usually look good. He shuffled his feet a little, embarrassed.

She looked up at him and the lights in her eyes dimmed a bit in what looked like confusion.

"I don't know? I never saw my body, so I don't think I can judge." She paused before she went on, eyes brightening again. "You do have some blood on your face though, and there are pieces of metal in your face that kind of look like they hurt."

Now Harry wanted a mirror, if only to see what his face looked like. Maybe he could find one later. A warehouse this big had to have one somewhere, right?

"I don't feel them," he confessed, "but if that's how my face looks, I think I'd rather like to avoid seeing what the rest of me looks like trapped in here."

There was a tense pause after that, since neither of them had anything to say that would make the discomfort of the situation better. Then Emma clapped her hands together and broke the silence with a cry of excitement.

"That's it! What you said before; that can be your name! Spring Trap!" She exclaimed proudly, eyes brightening a bit.

He thought about it for a moment, before deciding that it sounded like a good choice. It wasn't like he had come up with anything better, and it did sound cool...

"Spring… Trap?" He tested it, sounding out the words carefully. Then he beamed. "I like it! But can it be one word? I think I'd be able to spell it better that way." With a giggle, the girl in front of him agreed.

"Ok! Springtrap it is!"

It took some time to get used to his new name and companion, but Springtrap managed to get used to both of them fairly quickly. Wandering around the warehouse with the employee files tucked under his arm, he and Emma, the Marionette, started a tour of what was in the warehouse. Marionette took the lead, as she had been in the place for longer than he had, and she seemed to know where things generally were.

"Oh! And that's where the doors are!" She animatedly pointed towards a large rectangle in the wall and a smaller metal door next to it. "I tried to look outside a few weeks ago, but I someone was walking past and I don't think they liked that I was moving around." She grimaced a little at the memory, looking at the smaller door. "They came in after that with a flashlight and a bat, saying something about thieves, but I think they just saw me and didn't get a good look in the dark."

The impromptu tour ended soon after that, and they started to get to know each other better after returning to the area near the puppet's present box. They sat across from each other in front of it, and started to talk.

It was like a game of 20 Questions, except they didn't count the questions as they asked them. Most of the questions were along the lines of, 'What's your favorite book?' 'What about your favorite color?' Marionette's were the Magic Tree House series and the color lavender. Springtrap liked the story of James and The Giant Peach best, and his favorite color was forest green. Springtrap also learned that he was a year older, and Marionette found out that Springtrap had only been in the warehouse for a few hours compared to her month. After a while of this, Marionette decided to ask a question that ended up treading deeper into personal territory than the previous.

"So," she started, "how did you end up here? I mean, I was in a car crash a little while ago, and I woke up in here, but I didn't have my body with me. How come you still have yours?"

"I… " he trailed off. Did he really want to tell someone he had just met about how he died? Then again, she was his only friend, and that meant a lot to him. It was a few moments before he continued, feeling his not-throat choking up. "I died in here because somebody k-killed me. I-in the costume. That's how I got here."

It was dead silent after that, the Marionette having stopped moving, a sense of shocked sadness present behind her permanent smile. Springtrap had started shaking, eyes closed and jaw clenched tightly, making a creak as the metal was stressed. Then she pulled him close and hugged him tightly. His eyes shot open at the sudden contact, and he stiffened for a few seconds before leaning into the embrace. Gripping the Marionette like a lifeline he sobbed, the sound of slightly creaking gears and crying filling the silence. They stayed like that for a good minute or two before Springtrap's sobs died down and he stopped shaking.

After another minute, he gently peeled himself off the Marionette and readjusted himself to sit down cross-legged. She let him go, but took the time to lean on him and put her hand over his in a show of comfort after she positioned herself to sit on his right.

"I'm sorry I made you think about that," she whispered, feeling guilty. "Are you gonna be okay?" It was a delayed response she received, but it was a response nonetheless.

"I… think I will be," he said at a similar volume, voice sounding raw despite not having the body parts needed for such a thing intact. "I just… I don't want to talk about it very much. I don't think I'm ready to talk just yet."

"...Okay."

And with that, the two sat there until nightfall, conversation starting back up after the charge of emotion in the air died down. When the overhead lights started to dim, Marionette asked Springtrap if he wanted to spend the night with her in her box instead of being left alone in the dark. When he protested, citing that the box wasn't large enough to hold the both of them, she assured him that despite looking relatively small, her box was larger on the inside than it should be. She told him that it had first been larger than it should have been when she felt cramped as she woke up in it for the first time.

"Then I think I remember feeling something warm in the palms of my hands and the walls started moving apart!" She explained that now it was almost as big as a basketball court on the inside. She checked. "But wait, that's not even the weirdest part!" Telling him to stand inside the box while she stayed outside, she then proceeded to pick it up and carry it to the other side of the filing cabinets. "No matter what's inside, the box doesn't weigh any more than it would if it was empty!" She laughed as she plopped the box on the ground, the impact Springtrap felt cushioned by the expanded space within.

Finding this surreal in spite of the other impossible parts of his life, Springtrap laughed too, the odd blend of happiness and an odd, disbelieving humor infectious. Without the worry that he would be taking up all of the space, he accepted the offer to stay with Marionette in her box, and asked if she could grab the papers he left on top of the filing cabinet. Then he ducked down into the subspace of the box to leave room at the top for Marionette to climb in as well. Giddy with excitement as he waited for Marionette, Springtrap thought to himself that this was going to be the best sleepover ever.

Nearly a week later on Wisteria Walk, a squib was pacing in front of her fireplace, wringing her hands and waiting for the time her weekly floo call to the headmaster was scheduled. She had tried to contact him earlier in the week when she first noticed something was wrong, but to no avail. The man had been at the Ministry or out of the country for a few days, tending to important business regarding his position as the British representative to the International Confederation of Wizards. Finally, the clock on the mantelpiece showed the time as 10:00 in the morning, prompting her to grab a pinch of floo powder from a ceramic jar she kept next to it. Calling out 'Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts!' she hoped Albus was back and taking calls.

"Albus! Oh, thank goodness, I've been trying to reach you for the past week!" Mrs. Figg cried, as Albus was, indeed, on the other end of the floo. The eerie feeling of something not being right burdening her mind, she was on edge even as she felt relief at the sight of Albus in his usual place.

"My dear Arabella," Dumbledore started in a calm tone, silvery beard glinting in the light off the green fire. "Whatever is it that has you so distraught? Have any of your kneazles gone missing again?"

"No, my kneazles are fine, Albus. What I'm calling about is Harry! I haven't seen him in a week, not even coming home from school! I'd like you to come through and check on him to make sure he's alright."

Well, that wasn't what he had been expecting. The old man's eyebrows shot up and he glanced at one of his shelves, knickknacks and other small items organized haphazardly, eyes searching for something. It seemed that something he had seen caused him to worry, as he announced he was coming through the floo a moment later.

With a fwoom, Albus Dumbledore stepped out of a fireplace in Surrey. Frowning, he brushed the soot off his purple robes before turning to Arabella. Then he spoke, his voice strained.

"Arabella, please take me to the Dursley residence, if you would be so kind."

And off they went, soon to realize a terrible truth: there was no Harry Potter at the house on Privet Drive.