Author's Note: If you've read Piscaria's fanfic Family Night, and—as many details as are in that, that are not in this—I recommend you do, you'll recognize that this story, is that story, re-told from Willy Wonka's point of view. My thanks to Piscaria for allowing this use of her work. In the places I have included her work directly, I have used italics.


The trouble with concentration, is it's so concentrating. It shuts out everything else. Even things you'd like let in. Sitting cross-legged in the Inventing Room, as I often am, I should have heard Charlie let himself in, but I was concentrating on sweetness ratios, so I missed it, and the Oompa-Loompas, who could've—gosh darn it—warned me, didn't.

When I finally heard Charlie say my name—for, I could tell, not the first time—I jumped like I'd been shot, dropping the notebook I'd been jotting notes in.

"Charlie!" I said, "What are you doing here?"

Meh. That's not what I meant, but I was caught off-guard. I don't mind Charlie being here. Charlie is welcome here, but despite the key I've given him, he must not believe that if he's pussy-footing around like this. Well, he only moved in a month ago. I'll bring up the problem.

"Shouldn't you be doing your homework?"

There. His icky school. If it weren't for that, he'd have come with me when I came here tonight. Charlie wasted no time telling me he'd finished that nuisance early, and his mother had thus sprung him so he could come find me. Fantabulous! Pocketing my notebook and scooping up my walking-stick, I stood up.

"Let me show you what I'm working on!"

Nope. No interest in that. The boy was consumed with something else. Something else he wanted to ask me, and wasn't that odd. Charlie should have the world, but he rarely asked for anything. His humility is one of the reasons I chose him. With all that would lie at his feet one day, he'd need it to keep his balance.

"Is there something you need?"

Charlie answered no, but he meant yes. And I'd brought up the subject myself, when I'd brought up homework. His icky school, he told me, was having some so-called 'Family Night' tomorrow. My jaw clenched, but you don't notice that unless you're looking for it, and I kept my voice as up-beat as I could. No doubt the tyke wanted to play hooky when it came to my school. Tomorrow was chocolate lesson night. If I were Charlie, I'd skip the other, but Mrs. Bucket would never allow that. I'd best get this out, before I crush my walking-stick.

"Well, if you need to skip your chocolate lesson, I understand." I don't. "School must come first, after all." I smacked my lips, but the bad taste was only in my head, and not in my mouth.

"No," said Charlie, "that's not what I meant."

"Then what—"

And that's another thing I love about Charlie. He surprises me. He surprises me because he sees possibilities for me that I don't see for me. He wanted to ask if I'd go with him. Go with him. As if I could deal with leaving the Factory. As if I could deal with being in close proximity to people I don't know. As if I could deal with the ghosts of tortures bound to re-surface in a… school environment. The smell of the cleaners, mixed with the smell of the dried sweat, and the floor wax, and the moldy lockers; those smells, that permeate the halls, ubiquitous to all schools, would be all it would take…

I lifted my head. Time was ticking. I opened my mouth. Closed it. The Oompa-Loompas were grinning like hyenas—you never really know with them, they come from a very hostile jungle, and I think they rather enjoy the kill now and again… I had to get outta this. The look on Charlie's face wasn't helping.

"You want me to come with you?"

Not much of a stall, but I was thinking.

Charlie nodded. "It wouldn't take very long," he said. "You'd still be able to get some work done that evening…"

Not likely.

"…All you'd have to do is come and see my school, and meet my teacher, and look at the project I've been working on."

"Well that . . . that's great," I said. Not. "But I'm sure that your… ppa, pa—"

"I already asked them," Charlie said. "Mum said it was okay."

And there you have it. Mum said it was okay. That 'P' word… What good are they? Mum should know I'd rather take off my gloves than go to that school. She should be backing me up, not getting Charlie's hopes up. I'm doing my part keeping the peace with her. I'm letting her let him go to that goofy place. She should be keeping the peace with me.

Maybe she was. Charlie was biting his lip and fidgeting as if his hopes weren't up. As if he'd been primed for disappointment. That thought stung a little, and I began to waver. Charlie must have sensed that, because he didn't want to let it go. He mentioned they'd be serving cookies. Would I leave my Factory for a cookie? I love that Charlie thinks so. But wait! There's more! Not everyone there would be a Mum or Dad. There'd be a grandma, and an uncle. And all his classmates. And his teacher. And I'd get—his word—to meet his teacher.

"And what would I be?"

"You're my . . ." Charlie hesitated, unsure, really, what he should call Mr. Wonka, even in his own mind. "You're my other teacher," he said finally. "And my friend."

I leaned against the Gobstopper tank. This could all be a trick, but there it was. Charlie had used the 'f' word— friend. I might have to go. Not going would not be doing something every normal grown-up does without a thought, and as little as I care about 'normal' and 'grown-up', I do care about 'friend'. I decided in an instant. A friend would go, and so I will. I waited till Charlie dared to look up again, and gave him the good news. Cookies already covered, he was out of enticements.

"Hey! What a good idea. I'll go."

"Really?" Charlie breathed.

"Of course!"

Having already floored the dear boy by agreeing to go, I put a confirming hand on his shoulder. Touching is creepy, but it makes a point, and I don't mind it so much if I'm the one doing it. To make it more real, I talked about the outing as if it were happening. I told him I was looking forward to doing my part to straighten out his teacher, should I discover she was teaching him the wrong things. That, I think, is when Charlie realized I was gonna go as myself. And started wondering if this was such a good idea after all. But having made up my mind, I wasn't gonna change it now.

Before he could change his mind, I cut short a few "But Mr. Wonka…"s, got the details, and hustled Charlie from the room, making sure an Oompa-Loompa saw him safely back to the Chocolate Room. A month is not a lot of time to learn this Factory, and Charlie was probably giddy.


I had a lovely time at dinner next evening. Stupendous. Every one in that little house was so nervous, I needn't bother. Which was good, because even if I were, I couldn't show it. Charlie's second thoughts were so full blown by now, they could've taken a seat at the table. If I'd added any of my nerves to that, there'd have been a substitution. And I couldn't have that now, could I? More than that, Mrs. Bucket had pleased me. I'd suggested taking the Great Glass Elevator, and against Charlie's slumped shoulders and suggestion we walk, she'd backed me to the hilt. Doing that let me know this was all Charlie's idea, against her better judgement. It was gratifying to know we were on the same page, and even better to know I could surprise her. And she calls me Willy. I soooo prefer that.

"Now Willy," … "Make sure you ask how Charlie's doing in arithmetic. We've been giving him extra help in the evenings, but his last test showed some room for improvement."

"Arithmetic," I said. "Got it."

"And ask if there's anything he needs to work on," Mr. Bucket reminded me. "And find out if he's getting along with the other children."

Getting along with the other children. To keep from rolling my eyes, I thought of braces.

"Work on. Kids. I've got it."

"And for God's sake," Grandpa George grumbled from the bed, "Don't wear that ridiculous hat."

Ridiculous HAT! I felt a fit of the giggles. What a ridiculous thing to say! Grandpa George is so weird. Giggles would only encourage him. I ignored him instead, but I could see that all these pa… ppaa… you know, tasks, being handed to me, was taking its toll on Charlie. They're not really my thing, and he could see that now. He could see that he didn't want them to be my thing. I popped up from the table, and popped on my anything-but-ridiculous hat, and not-ridiculous-at-all, coat.

"Never miss a chance to make an entrance, Charlie," I said… "Are you ready?"

"We don't really have to be early," he said, "They expect people to keep trickling in all evening."

"Even so…"

"Yeah," Charlie said, wishing, I could tell, that he wasn't. "I'm ready."

"Then let's boogie!"

The evening had taken on a luster. Tonight, I was me being more me than usual.


I do not own Family Night, or Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, in any of its many forms, and there is no copyright infringement intended.