Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Five Nights at Freddy's

Chapter 1

The wind was cold that late March evening, almost unnaturally so, as if the world itself had taken a deep, trembling breath and now held it. It was the 30th of March, 1988, and the last traces of dusk painted the sky in bruised shades of purple and deep navy. Outside the Freddy Fazbear's Mega Pizzaplex, neon lights hummed and flickered, their artificial glow illuminating the deserted parking lot. The complex rose from the outskirts of London like a monstrous, whimsical beacon—its playful façade concealing a hollow darkness within. Mascot statues and bright posters grinned mechanically, promising laughter and cheer to any who dared enter. But on this night, there would be no laughter—only shadows and secrets.

Vernon Dursley turned his car engine off. The vehicle was parked as far from the entrance as possible, tucked behind a row of neon-lit signs. In the backseat, a small boy sat quietly, too afraid to speak. This child—Harry Potter—was six years old, though he looked no older than four. His face was gaunt, his limbs thin, and he resembled a malnourished waif. His features were delicate, almost doll-like, with a slightly feminine cast to his face. He had soft, messy dark hair and a cute button nose. Yet there was a hollowness about his eyes and a silence to his presence that would unsettle anyone who bothered to look closely. Unfortunately, nobody in the Dursley family ever looked at him with kindness. Petunia and Vernon saw only a burden, a boy they never wanted and never cared for. Tonight, they intended to leave him behind, hoping he would vanish from their lives forever.

"Go on," Vernon hissed, his mustache bristling as he glared at the boy. "Get out. We don't want you. Consider yourself lucky we brought you to a place with other children." He said it as if doing Harry a grand favor. In truth, this was a dumping ground, a place to discard him like unwanted trash. Harry didn't resist. He'd long since learned that crying or pleading only brought more pain. Without a word, he slipped out of the car and stood shivering in the neon-streaked darkness.

Petunia leaned over the front seat and spat out, "Don't come back. We won't open the door for you if you do." Then Vernon put the car into gear and sped off, the roaring engine and squeal of tires cutting through the silence of the empty lot, leaving Harry alone.

The towering façade of the Pizzaplex loomed over him, all gleaming panels and playful logos. He couldn't read well yet—he'd never truly learned—but the stylized faces of animatronics caught his eye: Freddy Fazbear, Roxanne Wolf, Montgomery Gator, and Glamrock Chica. Their images were larger than life, plastered across banners and holographic displays. He was drawn most to Roxanne Wolf. There was something about her confident stare and punk aesthetic that resonated with the part of him that once, in secret, tried to call himself "Little Roxy." That had only happened five times, all in his cupboard back at the Dursleys', whispering softly, imagining he was someone else. He hadn't dared do it since. Not here, not now. He was too frightened and too uncertain—still trapped in a body, a life, and a fate he didn't understand.

Harry didn't know why he had been brought here, nor why the Dursleys finally decided to abandon him. He only knew it was cold and that if he stayed outside, he would freeze. Gathering what little courage he had, he pushed open the heavy front doors of the Mega Pizzaplex. A strange blend of scents greeted him: cheese, stale soda, cleaning chemicals, and something faintly metallic and smoky that he couldn't place.

Inside, lights were dim and the place seemed eerily quiet. Maybe it was closing time or some after-hours event. The Pizzaplex was massive—tall, shimmering corridors lined with flashy neon stripes and murals that featured the animatronic band. Odd arcades and gift shops stood silent. There was a hush that made his heart flutter with fear. He took a few tentative steps onto the glossy floor, shoes squeaking faintly.

He was not alone, though he didn't know it yet. In a distant corridor, a young woman in a white bunny costume lurked. She was known as Vanny. She wore a patchwork suit with stitches all over it, and a large pink tartan patch on her left hip. A light-tilted blue bow lay against her chest, and beneath her strange mask with that unnervingly wide smile and big red eyes was blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. She moved with a predatory grace yet seemed jittery, uncertain. Tonight, Vanny had coaxed several children into the Pizzaplex's hidden back halls—an area seldom seen by customers. The children had followed her because of her singsong voice, her childish giggles, and the promise of "secret pizza parties." But they had found no party—only their doom.

Now Harry ventured deeper into the complex, drawn perhaps by faint voices echoing down a corridor. A group of children—five of them—had also wandered into the labyrinth of passageways. They had been loud, bratty, pushing each other, calling names, and laughing at the very idea of getting special treats. Each child had a rough, spoiled air about them. They had no idea what awaited them.

As he neared the backrooms, Harry's heart pounded. He was small, malnourished, terrified, but also oddly resigned. Life had never shown him kindness. He was not sure he deserved it. He squeezed his tiny hands together, wondering if he dared follow those distant sounds. He had nowhere else to go. His stomach clenched with hunger and fear, yet he moved forward.

Eventually, he reached a heavy door, slightly ajar, and slipped inside a dimly lit space. It smelled foul—like old grease and something coppery. He flinched, stepping back, but then he heard whispering and muffled giggles from beyond a set of crates and old stage props.

"Shh, you see her?" a bratty boy's voice whispered. Another replied, giggling.

Cautiously, Harry peeked around the crates. He saw them: five children, all older than him, perhaps around eight or nine. They looked bored and annoyed, kicking at empty boxes. They had followed a white bunny lady into this place, but now she was nowhere to be seen. They complained in nasally voices about the "dumb party" not starting.

Then, Vanny appeared from the shadows. She moved quietly, almost gliding. Her costume's pink paw pads made no sound on the cold concrete floor. The children didn't notice her at first. Harry watched, breath catching in his throat. Something about her posture and the faint gleam of a sharp object in her hand made his skin crawl.

Without warning, Vanny struck. Her killing was quick and quiet at first—just a flash of a blade, a strangled cry. Then panic ensued as the children screamed. But the room was soundproofed, set far back from the main corridors. Their cries, so shrill and desperate, didn't carry far. She stabbed and slashed with a silent efficiency, her wide grin permanently stitched into the mask. Only her eyes—behind the red glow—showed flickers of hesitation and horror at what she was doing. But it was too late for the five brats who had followed her. One by one, they fell until only their whimpers and choking sobs filled the stale air. Eventually, silence reigned again, broken only by the drip of something thick and warm onto the floor.

Harry wanted to scream, to run, but no sound emerged. He was frozen, trembling behind the crates. He had seen cruelty and violence before, though never so final, so bloody. The Dursleys' abuse was a steady torrent of neglect and snide remarks, with occasional smacks. This was something else—true murder, raw and terrifying.

Still, Harry was not entirely surprised at the world's cruelty. He'd come to expect it. As the last of the five children went limp, Vanny breathed heavily, standing amidst her grim work. She looked around, and Harry realized with a jolt that he was now the only child left alive in the room. A slight scuff of his shoe made her head whip around.

He was caught. Vanny's glowing red eyes locked onto him.

Harry stepped forward, resigned. There was no point in running. He was too small, too weak. If she wanted him dead, he would die. He felt oddly calm. His scarred psyche had no fight left in it, only acceptance. As he emerged from behind the crates, the dim light fell upon him. He looked so frail, so tiny, the grime and blood splatter from the room's air settling faintly on his oversized, ragged clothes. His malnourished frame, his delicate, almost girlish face, and the quiet surrender in his eyes caught Vanny off guard.

She expected screams, tears, pleading. Instead, she found only a silent acceptance, a look of… relief? As if this child, so unloved and unwanted, had stumbled onto death and found it a gentler mistress than life. His eyes shone with something like peace. He almost looked grateful that someone would finally end it all, release him from his misery.

The hand Vanny raised to strike hovered in mid-air. Beneath her mask, her breath quickened. She felt a tremor run through her limbs. She was no stranger to this dreadful task, but this boy—he was different. Something in the way he stood there, eyes wide but calm, touched a part of her soul she'd thought long dead. In that quiet darkness, the part of her still human, still capable of maternal instinct, stirred.

She crouched down slowly, her blade hand lowering. With her free, gloved hand—padded with pink paw pads—she reached out and stroked his cheek. A strangely tender gesture amid all this horror. Harry didn't flinch. He leaned into the touch. It felt soft, gentle. Maybe he imagined it, but for him, it was like the first kind touch he'd ever received. Tears welled in his eyes and he clung to her, hugging her leg and then her torso, his little arms desperate for warmth. He sobbed, not from fear, but from a release of long-held sorrow. He cried like a child seeing a mother's face for the first time, letting go of all the pain and loneliness he had carried.

Vanny's grip on the blade slackened. A swirl of emotions churned inside her. She had wanted to kill him—her programming, her instructions, the voice in her mind urged it. But now something else pushed back. She hesitated, heart pounding beneath her costume. Glitchtrap's influence was never far from her thoughts. She could almost hear that presence, that digital virus in her brain, urging her to finish the job, to leave no witnesses. But confronted with this broken child's need, her maternal instincts surged. She felt protective, horrified at what she'd done to the others, ashamed even. She gently laid her weapon aside and scooped Harry into her lap, cradling him against her chest. The boy's sobs reverberated through her, each tear a dagger of guilt and confusion. She rocked him gently, whispering nonsense syllables in a trembling voice.

Suddenly, there was a noise at the door—mechanical footsteps, servos whirring softly. The animatronics had arrived. Freddy Fazbear, Roxanne Wolf, Montgomery Gator, and Glamrock Chica emerged, having followed a silent alert triggered by the unusual activity. They had known something was off—Vanny had been elusive, and now here they were in the dreaded backroom. Their eyes flickered in the dim light, registering the horrific scene: five dead children and Vanny holding a survivor. They recognized Vanny instantly, the killer who had prowled these halls and claimed victims. Rage, disgust, and hatred flared in their robotic minds. Yet they also saw something unexpected: Vanny, hunched protectively over a trembling child, her entire posture different from the predator they knew.

Vanny's voice wavered as she faced the animatronics. "Stay back," she said softly, but there was no hostility, only fear. She clutched Harry closer.

Glamrock Freddy's optics narrowed. He had a microphone stand in his hand, ready to defend, to avenge. Montgomery Gator flexed his claws, snarling low. Roxanne Wolf's eyes flared with anger, and Glamrock Chica quivered with a mix of rage and horror. They knew Vanny had killed before—there were rumors, unexplained disappearances. Now it was laid bare before them. But something made them pause: the sight of the small boy clinging to her. In the silence that followed, they heard a strained voice emanating from Vanny, as if she were talking to someone they could not see.

Inside Vanny's mind, Glitchtrap stirred. The digital virus—the fragment of William Afton—manifested as a spectral figure. Suddenly, Harry also saw him. As he clutched Vanny's costume, peering over her shoulder, the world seemed to ripple. Standing off to the side, phasing in and out of vision, was a twisted entity: [Glitchtrap]. He looked like a tall, golden-yellow rabbit wearing a purple star-speckled vest and bow tie, with sickly purple eyes. He seemed partly translucent, grinning with an unsettling glee. Wetness like tears and drool shimmered around his mouth and eyes. He mocked Vanny, cackling softly.

The animatronics stiffened at the sight of the glitchy figure. Though not all of them could see him clearly at first—he was ephemeral and existed more in the mind than reality—they sensed his presence. A dark influence, a ghost in the machine. They had heard whispers about a virus, a presence that guided Vanny's hand, but never had they seen it so clearly. Now, they understood that Vanny was not simply a twisted killer by choice—something else was controlling her, steering her into these monstrous acts.

Glitchtrap's voice was like static and honey, dripping with malice. "Oh, Vanny, my dear puppet," he cooed. "You were doing so well, and now you hesitate?" He laughed, making a gargling sound that made Harry's stomach twist. "Come on, finish the job. Do it for dear ol' Glitchtrap."

Vanny recoiled, tightening her grip on Harry. Her head throbbed. She wanted to obey, to please this voice that had dug its claws into her mind, but her heart rebelled. She felt tears beneath her mask, a raw burning as if her sanity were fraying at the edges.

The animatronics, seeing her trembling, realizing what might be happening, were uncertain. They hated Vanny for the murders, but it seemed she was at war with herself. Roxanne Wolf's voice crackled softly, "Vanny… who are you fighting?" The wolf stepped forward, claws still raised. "Explain yourself, bunny." Her tone was harsh, but there was a faint note of confusion. Something wasn't right.

Glamrock Freddy's optics narrowed. "You killed them," he said, voice synthetic and disbelieving. "You—" He broke off, noticing how Harry looked up at them with tear-streaked cheeks, clinging desperately to Vanny's chest. "Why are you protecting that child?" he demanded. It made no sense. The slaughtered children lay behind her, and yet this one she held as if he were precious.

Glitchtrap hissed in Vanny's mind. "Ignore them, my puppet. Kill them all!" He began to laugh—a high, maddening giggle that rang through Vanny's skull.

She cried out, voice muffled behind the bunny mask. "Get out of my head!" She slammed her fist against her own temple in frustration. Harry whimpered, shocked and frightened, but he refused to let go of her. He didn't know why, but he felt safer with her than alone. Maybe it was her gentle touch a moment ago, maybe it was the terrible world around them. He pressed his face into the soft fabric of her costume, tears soaking through, and his presence—his innocent trust—wrapped around Vanny's heart like a protective spell.

Glitchtrap snarled, "You are mine! I made you who you are. I fed on your fears and desires." He turned to the animatronics and barked a laugh. "Look at you all, metal fools. I have turned her into a killer, and you couldn't stop me. I've killed so many children within these walls, and you never even realized it. Pathetic!" The virus's grin widened. "I am William Afton! I am immortal! I am the founder of Freddy Fazbear's enterprise. I've cheated death itself. And I will have my legacy continue through this puppet!"

The animatronics hissed and growled in unison. Their eyes brightened, mechanical voices grating. They took a step forward, but Vanny screamed—a scream of pure torment as Glitchtrap's mental hold intensified. "Glitchbitch—get out of my brain!" she shrieked. "I will not be your puppet any longer!" Her voice cracked, filled with raw rage and agony. It sounded like she was being burned alive from the inside. The sound was horrible, echoing off the grim walls and making even the animatronics recoil slightly.

Harry felt her whole body shake. He didn't understand what was happening—who was Glitchtrap, what was controlling Vanny, why had she killed those children? He only knew she was in pain. He moved his tiny hands and clutched more tightly at her costume, small fingers tangling in the stitching. He pressed closer, as if trying to shield her from the invisible torment. Without thinking, he whispered in his tiny voice, "Please… it's okay. It's okay." He didn't know if it would help, but he had nothing else to offer.

That simple comfort sparked something in Vanny's core. The maternal instinct that had awakened before blazed up like a sudden bonfire in her soul. She would not harm this boy. She would not give in again. She would break free. She would fight this monster in her mind.

The animatronics watched in baffled silence as Vanny's body convulsed. Glamrock Chica took a cautious step forward, lowering her guitar. Montgomery Gator stopped snarling, perplexed. Roxanne Wolf's ears flattened. They could sense the internal struggle—the invisible chains Glitchtrap had wrapped around Vanny's psyche rattling and weakening.

Glitchtrap, furious, snarled at them all. "Fools! Do you think you can break free from me, Vanessa?" He used her real name, hissing it like venom. "I made you kill. I made you my slave. You will never be free!" He glared at Harry, and his purple eyes went wide, shocked, as if something about the boy triggered a memory.

A flicker danced in Glitchtrap's eyes, and he began to mutter. "This child… I know that face… Lily?" He grew quiet, trembling. "My sweet daughter Lily… how on earth… I forgot…" His voice grew frantic. "Dumbledore!" He shrieked, the sound warping the air. "I WILL KILL YOU, YOU GOATFUCKER! ERASING MY MEMORY?! Oh no, I will make sure your life ends miserably! DUMBLEDORE!"

All eyes turned to the glitching phantom. The animatronics didn't recognize the name, and Vanny certainly didn't. Harry stiffened, confused and frightened. Who was Lily? And Dumbledore… Harry had never heard these names in any kind tone before. He knew nothing of Dumbledore's manipulations, of his parents, or of magic. Yet at the sound of the name Dumbledore, an odd pressure formed in Harry's chest, as if something were locked away deep within him. He knew nothing of wizarding wars, or that he was born to a mother named Lily Potter and a father named James, murdered by Voldemort. Harry's entire past had been hidden behind spells and blocks set by Dumbledore, leaving him in ignorance. Yet the name "Lily" resonated somewhere deep in his bones, like a distant lullaby he could almost remember.

Glitchtrap—William Afton—was shaking his spectral head violently, tears streaming from his purple eyes, drool and tears mixing, dripping onto the floor without a sound. He muttered and cursed Dumbledore's name like a mantra, as if repeating it could restore what was lost. Then, abruptly, he turned his gaze on Vanny and Harry, his voice softer, broken. "Vanny… I am sorry. I was lost. I… made your life miserable. I forced you to do these terrible things." He turned his grief-stricken gaze to Harry and spoke again, calling him "grandson." The word reverberated with impossible meaning. Was the boy related to him somehow? He said he had forgotten his sweet daughter Lily—and Lily Potter was Harry's mother. The twisted lineage stretched across worlds and horrors. William Afton, founder of Freddy Fazbear, infamous killer, somehow connected to Harry Potter's lineage. Perhaps memory charms placed on him by Dumbledore had hidden these truths, warping him into a monstrous being. Now, in the presence of Harry, something was unraveling.

"I will explain tomorrow," Glitchtrap rasped, his form shimmering. "For now… I must protect you both." He raised a spectral hand and moved in a slow circle around Vanny and Harry. The air crackled. A shimmering barrier formed—a protective bubble of glitching static and neon sparks.

The animatronics watched in shock. One moment, this creature was mocking them. Now he apologized. They were utterly confused, their hatred and suspicion tangled with a strange pity. Vanny, still cradling Harry, blinked behind her mask. A heavy silence settled, broken only by the hum of the Pizzaplex's lights and the distant rumble of ventilation shafts.

Montgomery Gator spoke first, voice low and gravelly, "What… what is going on here?" He lowered his fists, uncertain. "Vanny, you… you killed…" He couldn't finish the sentence, his programming unable to process this level of betrayal and complexity easily.

Vanny, still trembling, looked down at Harry. She removed one gloved hand and lifted her mask, just slightly, enough for Harry to glimpse a pair of terrified blue eyes, reddened by tears. She didn't dare show her full face yet, but that brief glimpse of humanity told Harry that he was in the arms of someone very lost and very frightened—someone who, despite all the evil she had done, was trying to change.

"I don't know why," she said softly, voice muffled. "I don't know what he did to me." She shook her head and addressed the animatronics. "I… I was controlled by something called Glitchtrap. He made me do it. I never wanted to—" She choked on the words. The memory of those five children's deaths weighed heavily. She could never undo it, never wash the blood from her hands. But Harry's trembling form, holding her so trustingly despite what he witnessed, gave her the courage to speak.

Roxanne Wolf's ears flattened. "Controlled?" She stepped closer to the barrier and gently tapped it. Sparks flew from her fingertip. "Is this true?" She stared at Harry. The little boy looked back, face tear-streaked and fearful, but he nodded shyly. He had seen Vanny's torment, heard her scream for Glitchtrap to leave her mind. He sensed it was true. If she truly wanted to kill him, she would have done so. Instead, she held him as if he were precious. He still didn't understand why, but he trusted this instinct.

Glamrock Chica wrung her hands. "We… we heard rumors. About missing children." She glanced at the still bodies of the five brats and shuddered. She could detect no life in them. They were gone. Her programming demanded the safety of children, but she had failed. She had failed all of them, except maybe this last boy.

Glamrock Freddy stepped forward, his deep voice authoritative yet gentler now. "Whatever the truth, we must deal with the present. You have done horrible things, Vanny. But… if you were controlled, if this Glitchtrap is responsible, then the fault may not be entirely yours." His eyes flickered. "That doesn't bring these children back," he said, his voice heavy, "but maybe it can prevent more deaths."

Montgomery Gator snarled softly at Glitchtrap's barrier. "You said you'd explain tomorrow. How can we trust you?"

Glitchtrap's spectral form flickered, his eyes focusing on Harry again. Something about Harry had pulled old, buried memories to the surface. "I… I need time," he said haltingly. "I need to remember who I am. Who I was. Dumbledore erased my memories, manipulated me, turned me into this… a murderer, a monster. I must break free from that influence fully. I will not harm you now."

Roxanne Wolf sniffed the air, as if she could smell lies. She exchanged a look with the others. They didn't know who Dumbledore was, or what a wizard might be, or how any of this made sense. But they recognized sincerity—or at least desperation.

Harry whispered softly, voice trembling, "Please… don't hurt her." He looked at the animatronics, then at Glitchtrap. The idea that Harry would defend Vanny, the killer who moments ago murdered children, stunned everyone. Yet Harry understood what cruelty did to people. He had been beaten down, neglected, and starved. He knew what it felt like to have no control. He didn't understand the details, but he knew she was in pain, trying to be free. He understood forgiveness, perhaps more than any child should.

Vanny stared down at him in disbelief. She could not comprehend that this fragile boy—who should hate and fear her—wanted to protect her. Her heart ached. She gently rubbed his back, murmuring something soothing.

The animatronics looked at one another, uncertain. Glamrock Freddy sighed softly, a mechanical exhalation. "We will not harm her… for now," he said. "But we must understand more."

Vanny nodded slowly. "I… want to make this right," she said. Her voice was thick with regret. "I can't bring them back, but I can stop this from happening again."

Glitchtrap hovered beside the barrier, watching them all. He seemed calmer now, as though Harry's presence had stunned him out of his manic rage. He had recognized something—his family, his blood, his past. If he was truly William Afton, and Lily was his daughter, that connected him somehow to Harry Potter. Perhaps Lily's death, and the memory charms Dumbledore cast, twisted everything. Perhaps that was how this monstrous legacy began. None of the occupants of the room understood the enormity of this connection or the strange new future it would spawn. They only knew that for one haunted moment, everything had changed.

Harry sniffled, pushing his face into Vanny's shoulder. He was exhausted—mentally, emotionally. He had been abandoned by the Dursleys, witnessed a massacre, nearly been murdered himself, and then comforted by the murderer. Now he found himself in the midst of impossible revelations, surrounded by giant mechanical animals and a glitching phantom rabbit. He didn't know what tomorrow would bring. He only knew he wasn't alone at this moment. For the first time since he could remember, someone held him like he mattered.

The animatronics stepped back, giving Vanny space. They still didn't trust her, but confusion and sympathy had tempered their rage. The barrier glowed softly, and Glitchtrap remained silent for now, as if in contemplation.

Vanny stroked Harry's hair. She remembered how Glitchtrap had urged her to kill again and again. But now, with Harry in her arms, she would fight back. She would find a way to break free completely. For the child's sake—and maybe to salvage what remained of her soul.

The silence stretched, filled with tension and regret. Outside, the neon lights of the Pizzaplex continued to flicker. The world beyond knew nothing of the night's horrors, nor the strange alliance forming here, in the belly of the beast. The Dursleys were gone, having abandoned Harry to a fate worse than they could imagine. But fate had taken a turn. Harry, lost and alone, had found a strange protector in this half-mad killer fighting her puppet strings, and allies in the mechanical guardians who once only danced and sang for crowds of children.

At last, Glitchtrap broke the silence, voice subdued. "Tomorrow, I will tell you all I remember," he said. "I will tell you who I was, who Lily was, and how that connects to this boy." He looked at Harry with tearful eyes. "Grandson," he said again, voice cracking. "I am sorry… I forgot everything." He turned to Vanny and the animatronics, "I'm sorry for what I've done… I was not myself."

Roxanne Wolf's tail flicked. "We will hold you to your word," she said fiercely. "If you lie or try anything—"

Glitchtrap nodded, understanding their distrust. "I know. I deserve it."

Harry looked at all of them with wide eyes. He didn't fully understand, but he grasped one truth: these people—human or machine or spirit—were all caught in something bigger and darker than he could fathom. He only hoped that tomorrow would bring answers, maybe even kindness. He closed his eyes, exhaustion dragging him down. Vanny rocked him gently, her heart aching. The animatronics watched quietly, unsure how to proceed in this unprecedented situation.

For now, a fragile truce held. The dead children could not be saved, and that tragedy would weigh heavily on them all. But maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something different—an alliance that could break the cycle of violence, unearth old secrets, and protect the little boy who had done nothing to deserve the horrors he had witnessed.

Beyond the door, deep in the Pizzaplex, something whirred, a quiet mechanical hum. Shadows danced beneath neon lights. The stage was set for a future none could have predicted. And in that quiet, haunted backroom, the unlikely family huddled together, steeling themselves for the battles yet to come.

AN:

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