Disclaimer: I am not one of the lucky copyright holders of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory in its many forms. I don't own anything at all. ButI do hope you find this just for fun, not for profit, perhaps elucidating, gentle parody, entertaining.

Updating today is as easy as 1.23 *chortle*chortle* Okay, that's probably not as funny as I think... dionne dance: Thanks so much for your continued support— your interest and comments keep me going!

While Charlie studied him, Willy sat quietly, lost in thought. Willy didn't look unhappy anymore. That made Charlie glad. Charlie knew he should go—it was getting late—but this man was too fascinating to leave. At least my parents won't worry about me— they'll think I'm still at the library. The unintended deception made Charlie sigh.

Charlie's sigh brought Willy back from his thoughts. A languid movement turned his serene gaze to Charlie, who quietly gazed back. For the next several minutes each peacefully contemplated the other, while Terence bided his time from the sidelines. The spell broke when Willy whispered, "You love the Factory, too?"

"Yes, sir, I do," answered Charlie. Including the formal 'sir' surprised him, but it seemed right, and he felt good doing it. "The Factory is the most beautiful place there is." Charlie decided to share a secret. "I visit it every day on my way to school. On the way back, too." A thought crossed his mind, and he began to giggle. Willy cocked an eyebrow. Charlie clued him in. "So far, Mr. Wonka hasn't invited me in, but he can't keep the smells from leaving. I love them."

After a small, smug shrug, Willy burst into a fit of giggles himself and nodded, his eyes dancing. Reaching a decision, he broke his gaze with Charlie and stood up, the energy he felt boundless. Placing both hands on the top of his cane, he turned to his old friend. "Terence."

"Willy."

"Terence." Willy's expressive voice was more than appreciative— it was downright grateful. "I can't thank you enough. In fact, I am forever in your debt. The truth is, the right person cannot buy candy bars and find a Golden Ticket if the right person does not have any money. It is a serious flaw in an otherwise brilliant plan, but one that is easily corrected, thanks, almost entirely, to your particular brand of particularly peculiar inventory control." Willy tipped his hat in salute.

Terence, pleased to find himself included again, smiled broadly, bowing from the waist.

Replacing his hat, Willy turned back to Charlie. He picked up the bill Charlie had handed him earlier from the top of the till. "Charlie. This is wet. Why?"

Willy only sounded curious, but Charlie felt his heart race. "I… I found it in the snow— just now. It was almost buried in the gutter, but the corner was sticking out." Charlie bit his lip. Maybe he shouldn't have taken the money. "I looked around, but no one else was looking for it, so I picked it up. Did I do the wrong thing?" Charlie looked stricken. He never wanted to do the wrong thing.

"No," answered Willy with authority, putting the bill down. "You did exactly the right thing. 'Finders Keepers' is a most important point in law. If you don't believe me, you can look it up for yourself." Willy trailed his fingers lightly across the bill again, considering its implications and Charlie's recent absences at the Factory gates. "Charlie, why didn't whoever dropped this money drop it so you could find it in January? I'm usually very lucky that way, you see. Something must have happened to you. What was it?"

"I was recovering," said Charlie matter-of-factly, before he could register all Willy had said. After he had, he asked, "How can my finding money be lucky for you?"

"Recovering?" Willy stepped back quickly, unable to stop himself. "From what?" Germs were ghastly things and he had the health of the Oompa-Loompas to worry about.

"A sprained ankle," Charlie replied, giving Willy a funny look. "I sleep in a loft. I jumped off the ladder the wrong way. It messed up my ankle so I couldn't walk on it." He looked down at his right foot. "My Mum didn't want me out in the snow. She thought I'd make it worse— or fall down and break something else." Charlie sighed deeply. "I didn't even get to stand outside the Factory on the day of the tour. That was the day after I hurt it. I might have seen Willy Wonka."

"Yeah, you might have seen Willy Wonka," muttered Terence. "You never know."

Charlie looked up at him.

"I didn't go either, if it makes you feel any better," said Terence. "I don't like crowds."

An impatient motion Willy made with his hand toward Terence spurred Charlie on. Crinkling his nose in distaste, Charlie said, "I've been stuck in the house for more than a week." He made it sound like a life sentence. "That's why I'm out now. I've been at the library, catching up on the work I missed. The library has the books I need and it's heated. I found the money on the way home." He looked from Willy, to Terence, and back to Willy again. Willy seemed content with his explanation, so Charlie decided to have another go at the question. "How can my finding money be lucky for you?"

"It'd be hard to take a tour on a sprained ankle," Terence offered.

"So it would," Willy agreed. "Charlie. Is your ankle hunky-dory now?" Willy's voice was solicitous, downplaying his earlier, and what to Charlie must seem unnecessary, squeamishness. Sprained ankles, Willy reflected, weren't contagious, so... onward!

"Oh, yes, it's fine now," replied Charlie, graciously. He gave up on getting the question answered.

"Then wonderful!" Willy was positively beside himself with barely suppressed excitement. "I insist you have one more Fudgemallow Delight!"

Charlie was bathed in another of Willy's radiant smiles. It felt good, and Charlie wanted to laugh. There was something so unstoppable about this man! But he hung his head instead.

Willy watched Charlie's reaction go the wrong way. "It will help answer your question," he added immediately in a voice most wheedling— his head slightly tilted, his eyebrows slightly raised, a mischievous grin on his lips.

This time Charlie did laugh. "I'd love to have another! But my family really does need the money, and I need to get home now or they'll worry. But thank you anyway."

Willy couldn't hide the exuberance in his voice and didn't try. "My dear boy, of course you should have the money, and of course you shall have the money." First drawing himself up to his full height, Willy leaned over toward Charlie. Looking very smug, and with an impish tone of conspiracy in his voice, he said, "This one is on me. On the condition that you allow me to choose it for you." Willy abruptly abandoned the theatrics. "Will that be alright?"

Charlie really did want the chocolate. He thought about what his Grandpa George always said: "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth". It was another of those expressions adults used that Charlie wondered about. This wasn't a horse, but it was a gift, so maybe it applied. Charlie nodded his head. He'd like to have another chocolate bar, and Willy could choose it if he wanted to. Willy nodded back. Charlie turned his head toward the display stand to see which one it would be. But Willy didn't go there. Instead, Charlie watched as Willy extracted a Wonka's Whipple-Scrumptious Fudgemallow Delight from the left-hand pocket of his plum-colored, velvet coat.

Willy held the bar up to the light, examining it. Satisfied, he handed the bar to Charlie. "I selected this one for myself, before you came into the shop," he said. "I was planning to take it home, but I'd like you to have it instead."

Charlie took the bar, nodding his thanks.

Willy and Terence looked on with happy anticipation.

Charlie began to tear the wrapper from the chocolate bar, but almost immediately his hand froze, and his breath caught in his throat. He had seen the glint of gold! He looked up at Terence, standing next to him, and then at Willy, standing behind the counter. They both looked back at him encouragingly, but Charlie stopped opening the wrapper and extended his hand to give the bar back to Willy. In a halting whisper, he said, "I— I think you should have this back. I mean— I think you'll want this back— I think it has—"

But that's as far as he got, because Willy Wonka put his hands behind his back and stepped away, as he whispered even more quietly than Charlie, "I gave it to you. It's yours."

Charlie remained motionless, until he realized Willy really meant it. Coming back to life, Charlie removed enough of the wrapper to pull the fifth Golden Ticket from the bar. Putting the bar down on the counter, he held the Golden Ticket in his hands. It was a shining, golden thing of glory! It was a miracle! And then is wasn't. There was complete silence in the shop. No one made a sound until Charlie sighed, closing his eyes against the tears.

Terence brought his hand to Charlie's shoulder again. "What's the matter, Charlie? You're holding Wonka's last Golden Ticket!"

Charlie raised his head. How can two adults miss this? he thought as he looked at each of them, pity shining from his eyes. "I found it too late. The tour is over," he said, his voice brimming with despair.

Charlie's dismay was the last thing Willy Wonka had expected—or wanted—to see. I may cotton to candy, he sighed to himself, but people perplex me. I should have known a boy like this would honor the date on the ticket and not try to use the ticket itself as entry. Exasperation grabbed him. "Fine then, if it's worthless give it to me and I'll put it in the bin." He held out his hand.

Ignoring the hand, Charlie held the ticket tightly to his chest. "No! I'll keep it."

"But you said it was worthless," said Willy, softly, secretly glad Charlie showed the gumption not to give up the ticket.

"I didn't," Charlie said stubbornly. "I said the tour is over. You said it was worthless. It's not worthless! It's beautiful! Look at it!" Charlie held the ticket out again. "I'm going to put it in my collection."

"Your collection?" Willy asked, wide-eyed. "Of Golden Tickets?"

"No, silly." The 'silly' was out before Charlie knew he'd said it, but Willy didn't seem to mind. Charlie's good humor was fast returning. "I have the wrappers of every Wonka bar I've ever eaten on the wall of my room. I'm going to put it with them."

"Every wrapper? On your wall?"

"He only gets one a year, remember," interjected Terence.

With a quick glance, Willy acknowledged the comment.

"I have a model of the Factory, too. I made it out of reject toothpaste tube caps my Dad brought home from work."

Willy began, "Your—"

Before Terence could fill in the word, Charlie said, "father."

"…works in a toothpaste factory?"

"Not anymore." Charlie held up the Golden Ticket. "He lost his job because of this contest."

"What? What did you say?" Willy looked shocked, and then completely mystified. "Are you joking? What does the one thing have to do with the other thing? Even remotely."

"A lot more candy got sold, so a lot more toothpaste got sold. They bought a machine with all the money they made that replaced my Dad's job. My Mum told me."

Willy sat back down on the stool and stared into space for several minutes. Then he leaned across the counter, eye to eye with Charlie. "Are you telling me, seriously, that when a factory in good times found itself in even better times, it laid off its workers? The people to whom it owed its success?"

Charlie nodded.

Willy leaned back. "That's disgusting!" The words dripped with loathing.

Charlie found himself comforted by Willy's anger. What Smilex had done to his father didn't seem right to him, and it didn't seem right to this expensively dressed, management type person, either. Willy spoke with such conviction, Charlie couldn't help but feel he knew exactly what he was talking about.

The partially unwrapped chocolate bar lay forgotten on the counter. Willy reached for it thoughtfully, finishing the task of unwrapping it. "May I see the ticket for myself? Close-up? I promise you can have it back. In the meantime, please eat this chocolate. I think it will do you good."

Charlie handed over the ticket while Willy broke off a piece of the chocolate, handing it to Charlie to get him started.

Willy gave the ticket a cursory examination and looked up. "Terence, would you like to see this? Close-up?"

"Ah— yes— I would. That would be nice," answered Terence, in the most blasé voice he could muster. His leap to the counter gave away his interest. Willy handed him the ticket with a giggle. Terence carefully examined both sides, holding it up to the light as he turned it over.

"So. Wha'd'ya think?" It was Willy's turn to sound blasé.

Terence grinned. "I agree with Charlie. It's a work of art. I think the embossed factory on it is cunning. Is it real gold?" he finally asked.

"The embossing is there to make it harder to fake, and I say with certainty it's made from gold leaf, silk screened using a negative image over an extremely fine, black linen 'paper'."

Charlie ate the chocolate bar slowly this time, savoring each bite. He enjoyed listening to the two friends speculate about the making of the ticket. Grown-ups always sounded so sure of everything when they talked, but he knew these two could only be guessing. Then the conversation took a turn.

"Terence."

"Willy."

"What—in your opinion—is wrong with this ticket?"

Terence was momentarily at a loss. Willy knew it wasn't a fake. What was he getting at? Oh, yeah! "It's past its sell-by date?"

"Or past it's find-by date?" Willy chortled. "I think the same thing. It says Feb 1st— that won't do for another year." Willy smirked with satisfaction. "I betcha I can fix that. Hand me the ticket, please." Terence handed it over. "Today is the 10th. It will be perfectly easy to make it say the 11th. I'll just remove a bit of the gold leaf." Willy caught Charlie's eye. "That will make the ticket good for tomorrow, Charlie. Will your—"

"Parents," sang out Terence.

"…let you miss school to take a tour of the Factory?"

Alarmed, Charlie's eyes went wide. This person was talking nonsense. Just because you're named Willy, like Willy Wonka, you can't go around modifying Golden Tickets! "I think they wo-would, yes, I'm sure they would, Grandpa Joe would ma-make them," he stammered. "But you can't do it!" It horrified Charlie to think the beautiful ticket would be mangled for no good reason. "It won't do any good to change it, and it'll ruin it!"

Impressive! Willy thought. If he feels that strongly about the ticket, just wait till he sees the Factory! Willy turned his full attention to Charlie, looking at him earnestly. Something in the look made Charlie calm down. Willy spoke slowly. "Charlie. If changing the ticket did mean you could go, would you like to?"

"Yes," breathed Charlie, in a whisper, as if the chance to see the Factory was a timid animal that would be frightened away if he spoke any louder. "It would be a dream come true." There. He'd dared to say it out loud, and now Charlie didn't know which was worse. The pity he felt for these two misguided adults, believing that any of this was really going to lead to Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory, or the hope rising in him that he knew would be dashed if it didn't.

Willy turned his attention back to the ticket. "Okey-dokey, then. Terence do you have something sharp?"

"Sure," laughed Terence, "My wits, my insights, my tongue, my elbows…"

Willy cut him off with a very dramatic mock sigh, followed by a giggle. "I was thinking more in terms of an implement." Charlie couldn't help but laugh himself. Willy broke off another piece of the once again forgotten, but now nearly eaten, Fudgemallow Delight and handed it to Charlie.

Terence, meanwhile, had moved around the counter, where he was rummaging through a box on the other side of the till. "How about an Exacto Knife?" he said, holding one up in his hand.

"Exactly," sighed Willy, with satisfaction. Taking the knife, he placed the Golden Ticket on the counter before him. Pretending to study the task, he waited. When he was sure that all eyes were glued on him, he lifted his head. Smirking at them both, he raised the knife high over his head. Flourishing it with élan, he dived down to the ticket. A few deft strokes later, and the job was done. Returning the knife to its starting place, he paused dramatically, the smirk still on his face. Then, with another flourish, Willy lowered the knife slowly to the counter.

The glee in his eyes was irresistible.

Thanks for reading! Oh, and by the way, wouldn't it be wonderful, to open a bar of chocolate and find a review inside! Fun Fact: Australian airspace has a WONKA waypoint at S32 26.7 E152 05.9!