A/N: Firstly, a thousand thanks to my reviewers. You are wonderful, really. And I was amazed when I checked my stats and saw that this story had 122 hits! Wow! Anyway, a few responses to my reviewers:

Valerie Phoenixfire: I'm very glad you like it!

Quill in Hand: I'm afraid something VERY bad is going to happen. I'm afraid I just can't help it!

IDOL HANDS: Did you get the whole Peter Pan reference, then? Anyway, many thanks!

Maleficent Angel: Thanks! Yeah, I love Grandpa George as well... he's turned out to be featuring quite a bit in this chapter, actually! I think maybe he reminds Mr Wonka of his own father... anyway, I love your current story 'Circus of Life'. Yay for fluffiness! By the way, your review gave me the idea of how to shape this story, so thanks! I loved the crystal ball metaphor.

The-Serious-Padfoot: What I meant is that in England we say 'maths', but because Mr Wonka seems to be American I had to be faithful... sigh! Anyway, thanks for reviewing!

PucktoFaerie: Many thanks! Is the pen-name is a reference to A Midsummer Night's Dream?

So now... on with the story!

Chapter Two

That night at dinner the Buckets and Mr Wonka had a very curious conversation. Charlie wasn't sure how it had happened, but round and about the talk turned to that of family. Mr Wonka had promptly cast his eyes downwards and didn't say a word until a well-meaning Mrs Bucket turned to him and smiled.

"Have you seen your father lately, Mr Wonka?" The chocolatier almost choked on his peas.

"Uh... no, not since..." He trailed away, looking uncertain. Grandpa George, who had had a bad day, snapped:

"Then you're a fool, boy."

Mr Wonka looked up quickly, his eyes wide and slightly hurt. Mr Bucket looked shocked.

"Pops!" He admonished, but Grandpa George just snorted.

"Well, he is. Family's important, boy; didn't anyone ever tell you that? It be a damn fool, then, who pushes them away." Charlie gazed at his grandfather sadly. He hated it when anyone spoke out against Mr Wonka, especially when it was one of his own family.

"Yeah." Mr Wonka said, very quietly. "I guess so." But he seemed to be talking to himself more than anyone else.

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The next day at breakfast the Bucket family were disturbed by a most surprising sound. The Oompa Loompas were singing, but it was not their usual rhythmic, self-composed music. No, they were singing: 'Happy Birthday'.

The mystery was soon solved when Mr Wonka walked in, his cheeks slightly redder than usual. Charlie grinned.

"You should have told us it was your birthday, Mr Wonka!" He exclaimed, and Mr Wonka shot him a terrified look, and muttered something about not wanting a fuss. Then Charlie posed a most disagreeable question. "So how old are you?"

Mr Wonka gave an uneasy grin and threw his coat over the back of a chair, but was saved responding by Grandma Georgina.

"Oh, I remember the birthday parties, when I was a girl..." She smiled vaguely at them, her gaze distant and lost in memories of times past. Charlie sometimes thought she and Mr Wonka had a lot in common. He was not, however,to be deterred from his line of questioning.

"So how old are you?" He asked again, sharing a slight grin with his father as Mr Wonka pretended not to hear him. Mrs Bucket smiled kindly at the chocolatier and saved him from answering as she crossed the room carrying a frying pan.

"Bacon and eggs, Mr Wonka?" She asked, and he nodded hesitantly, still looking like a naughty school boy who had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Charlie, meanwhile, was getting exasperated.

"Oh, come on, Mr Wonka, you can't be that old..."

"I'm forty today." Mr Wonka snapped, not at all his normal cheery self. His face fell as he surveyed his plate of food. "I mean, that's old! And who wants to be old, Charlie?" And he sighed.

Grandpa George, who was eighty-one that October, was most insulted by that comment.

"Stupid boy." He said, glaring at Mr Wonka from across the table. "You're a bloody spring chicken, Wonka, compared to us old ones." But Mr Wonka clearly had some pride left, for he studiously ignored the old man.

No more words were exchanged between the two for several days, and Mr Wonka's birthday passed largely without celebration, though Mrs Bucket did insist upon baking him a cake – a chocolate cake, of course.

888

The problem was, Mr Wonka thought one day as he stirred one of his many creations in the Inventing Room, is that you never really know what's happening until it does actually happen. Take one of his inventions, for example – there had been no logical thought process behind any of his ideas, no warnings at all. They just happened, in one big burst of creativeness.

But sometimes, he mused, he could see when an invention was going wrong and take steps to amend that... but not before some poor Oompa Loompa had fallen prey to some incredible and ludicrous candy fate.

You see, something was worrying Mr Wonka, the genius chocolatier, that did not usually worry him. For you see, he had never been ill, and had always taken his health for granted. Oh, he had caught the 'flu a few times, and been laid up with a cold once or twice, but he had never been really, frighteningly ill.

But now he found himself wondering if he really was as fine as he told himself he was every morning as he looked in the mirror. He had been losing weight, which he really shouldn't have done considering Mrs Bucket's lovely food, and he found himself getting rather more short of breath than he once might have done when rushing around the factory with Charlie. And he was finding that he was much more forgetful about things than he used to be. Why, just yesterday he almost forgot to add the milk to the chocolate river!

Ah well, he thought to himself, shaking his head. It was probably just old age catching up with him... but then again, was that really the most comforting of thoughts?

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A/N: Please tell me what you think... are they all still in character?