They did go. Willy put Charlie in charge of the Great Glass Elevator, the crowd of family crowding in around the two sedan chairs and the twenty-four Oompa-Loompas, twelve to each chair, that carried the grandmothers. With those conveyances in the mix it was standing room only inside the Elevator, and truth be told, the space was so packed, it was breathing room only. Asking Charlie to give him a head-start, Willy opted to walk.

"One too many with me," he called, hastening away. "I'll meet all y'all in the hall."

Charlie didn't wait. It was too crowded. He pushed the button. At least we don't have to worry about anyone falling, he thought, as the Elevator lurched on its way. There isn't room for that.

Willy must have known a shortcut. Or run like crazy. Or both. Disentangling themselves from the Elevator, and making sense of themselves in a re-formed group at the top of the entrance hall, the family could see Willy standing beside the wide open doors of the Chocolate Room. There was no need for perspective puzzles tonight. Tonight the color seen at the end of the grey hall was like the shining pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. The family made for the treasure it promised. The sedan chairs didn't make it into the room.

"Stop!" cried Georgina, when her chair, leading the procession, reached the room's entrance, and she saw what awaited them. Blocking the way, she sucked in a nose full of the delicious scents. The roar of the chocolate fall filled her ears. "Stop!" Her arms were waving like the graceful branches of the toffee-apple trees. "Stop, stop, stop!"

With a raised brow and shoulder shrug from Willy, the Oompa-Loompas stopped. Her hands clasped over her heart, Georgina's face was too filled with joy for Willy to truly worry, but the top of the walking-stick he held at his side squeaked in protest from the share of his anxiety it was taking. It wouldn't do at all if they didn't like it.

"Georgie!"

"Georgie?" Willy giggle-snorted-whispered.

Georgina was clambering her way out of the chair the Oompa-Loompas had set down on the red carpet, George assisting her.

"It's a vista! I love a vista! Oh, Georgie, we must walk!"

Joining her at her side, standing dumbstruck, George gorged himself on the vista his wife was gushing about. The Chocolate Room left him without words, and he could only see a part of it. Willy Wonka could giggle-snort-whisper 'Georgie, porgie, puddin' and pie', for all George cared. The beauty of this room could make you cry. If Willy Wonka made things like this, Willy Wonka got a pass. George took his bride's hand in his, and together they stepped over the threshold and into the room. Joe, with Josephine, having lately alighted from her chair, came and stood with them.

"Oh, Joe, sweetheart, you told us, but I never imagined." Josephine turned to compliment Willy on his achievement, but Willy had tiptoed to the back of the group.

George found his voice. "Daughter," he said sternly, over his shoulder, "how did you keep this to yourself? And grandson! How did you?"

Charlie looked up from his conference with Willy, afraid for a minute he was in trouble. He wasn't. Rising, Willy made shooing motions that sent Charlie forward, and Nora, her arm in Noah's, laughed at her father's question.

"It was easy," she said. "We didn't keep it to ourselves. We told you all about it. Joe, and me, and Charlie… You just didn't believe us."

Noah tore his eyes from the room he was seeing for the first time, and back to Willy, back at the back.

"Would you like to lead the way, Willy?"

"Nah," said Willy, a tiny smile playing about his lips. "Charlie knows where the house is, and I doubt you'll lose your way. You decide who goes first. I'll go last."

Charlie went first. His entire family insisted. If it weren't for him, and the impression he'd made on a certain reclusive chocolatier, they wouldn't be here. As a former worker, and Willy Wonka's number one fan after Charlie, Joe, with Josephine, followed. 'Age before beauty then,' said Noah, and George and Georgina came next. Save for Willy, Nora and Noah brought up the rear.

They didn't get lost. As soon as the Bucket brigade stepped into the room, the lights dimmed. Music was heard, and as it swelled, Oompa-Loompas holding candles flowed into the room from everywhere, like a river themselves, a river of light, taking up positions along the path the Buckets should take. There were hundreds of them. Hundreds of hundreds, and they were all singing, softly:

From far-off lands we found our way,
Left strife and hardship faced each day.
From strife and hardship you come, too,
But now with us, you'll find that's through.

We've made our home for years and years,
This lovely place that's dried our tears.
The tears you've cried are over, too,
We've moved your house, and now that's through.

Our pasts are different, and yet they're not;
Going forward, we'll share the plot.
A future bright is what we see,
A future shared by you and we.

To make this so we start tonight,
Presenting your home in softest light.
So, welcome, welcome, please come in;
To the grandest world that's ever been.

The song was timed so that when the last note of the last phrase faded away, the family was standing in front of their house. Tears glistened in Bucket eyes. Charlie wiped his away. He hadn't known anything about the Oompa-Loompa's plans for the evening, and their surprise left him happy, and sad, and touched by their pageantry. The back of George's hand found its way to the corner of his eye, and after dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief drawn from her pocket, Nora blew her nose. Georgina let her tears fall. That she was alive to let them, and see this, was all that mattered to her.

The house was beautiful; beautiful and unchanged. Its flaws were still its flaws: the crooked chimney; the crooked walls; the crooked door. Everything that made their house, their house, was exactly as it was. But it was better. The wood of it shone in the soft candle light in burnished tones of mocha and chocolate, gleaming, as if each board had been individually stained and waxed. The dusky bricks of the chimney might have been made yesterday, the mortar holding them clean and new. The glass of the windows reflected their astonished, happy faces, as each took in what they were seeing in their own way.

"Gosh," said Noah, finally.

"Gosh," said Willy, from the back of the pack, where he still was. "Aren't ya gonna go in?"

There was a collective titter from the Oompa-Loompas that made Willy smile. "I don't think we can all go in," he said in answer, "leastwise, not all at once."

"If everything in this room is eatable," said George, "is this eatable now? Huh? Can we eat it?"

Willy had an answer, but the house looked so appealing, Charlie wondered too, and asked himself.

"Can we eat it?"

Interrupted by the echo before he could speak, Willy laughed. "Of course you can… if you're a termite. Or a carpenter ant, but they spit out the wood they eat. Ew! This is your house. It's still made of wood. Aren't ya gonna go in? You can sleep out here, but I don't think it would be as comfy."

Sleep here? In her own home? Nora knit her brow. She'd love to, but their belongings were back at the suite. She turned to make the point, only to find Willy had thought of that, too. A procession of Oompa-Loompas carrying baskets filled with their personal belongings was making their way up the path behind them. Reaching Willy, they halted and waited for further direction. Willy looked to the Buckets. This wasn't his show now.

Nora got it.

"Come in, come in, please come in," she said, beckoning to the waiting bearers. "And thank you all the rest of you for that lovely song, and for all your hard work, and your wishes for our future, and your future, and… and… for the candlelight, and…"

Noah stepped in and put an arm around his teary wife, giving her a reassuring hug. "And thank you for making us all feel so welcome here. Please visit us whenever you like."

A murmur went through the assembled Oompa-Loompas, and then a titter, and a signal must have passed among them, because with a collective bow, the river of light streamed the other way, and breaking into rivulets, left the Chocolate Room by its many discrete doors.

"My God, you've got a lot of those," George started to say to Willy when they'd left, but Georgina stepped on his instep, and what came out was, "My Go–ouch! you've got a lot o— owwww!"

"I love termites," Georgina sang, gazing at the house.

"So do I," grinned Nora. "Let's go in."

And they did: Charlie first, and Willy not at all.


The house wasn't exactly the same. The structural defects were a thing of the past, and if its outline was still whimsical, it was by design, and not by dilapidation. The area Nora and Noah shared had proper walls and a door, making it a room, and it was ever so much more spacious. The elders' bed sat where it always sat, and sitting on it to test it out, the elders found the mattress thereon as inviting a mattress as they had ever sat on. The pillows' firmness was a delight, with the thread count of the sheets and pillowcases somewhere north of five times their collective ages. The appliances were a similar story. They looked the same, but everything else about them was state of the art. That was the way of it in the entire house: the same, but better.

Willy stood in the doorway, watching them explore. The Oompa-Loompas had deposited the baskets of belongings by the made-over dining table, and left.

"You'll have to put your things away yourselves. We didn't know where you'd want them."

"Willy, come in," said Charlie, forgetting about the baskets and his made-over house for a minute.

"Yes, Willy, come in," assured Noah.

The request turned into a chorus, with the effect that Willy took a half-step backward. The chorus quieted.

"There's barely room. And it's late. And it's time we got some rest. Tiddlywinks is a flipping debilitating game. Everyone knows that. Specifically, Charlie, it's time you got some rest."

Charlie was confused. He didn't feel tired at all, but if Willy's amethyst eyes were hands, they'd be pushing Charlie up the ladder to his loft. That didn't make any sense at all. Charlie had already been all over his loft—his new and improved loft—at lunchtime this very day, and he knew its every nook and cranny. Willy knew that. Charlie's Wonka wrappers were already up there on the wall, put there by Willy, himself.

Willy's demeanor hadn't changed, and one by one, his family turned their eyes from Willy to Charlie. Charlie didn't know why, but he'd best get up to his loft. He scampered up. There was something different. The light wasn't the same, or maybe it was the way the air currents had changed course. It was hard to know—nothing jumped out at him—and Charlie was beginning to feel a little anxious.

"Are you lying down?"

The Buckets exchanged glances. What difference could that make?

"No."

"Lie down."

Charlie lay on the dreamy mattress, with its fabulous covers. His bed was every bit as wonderful as the one downstairs.

Willy stepped from the threshold to the planks that served as the porch and called, "Moonlight!"

As soon as that was done, Willy stepped back, his walking-stick held jauntily across his chest, and this time he did come inside. Ignoring the other Buckets, he moved to where he could see up into the loft. To where he could see the roof of the loft. Settled, his walking-stick found its customary place by his side. In the upper reaches of the Chocolate Room, a light appeared that might have been the moon, shining its light down onto the Bucket house. It shone against the roof where once had been a hole, and when it did, Charlie laughed.

"Oh, my gosh," he cried, jumping off the bed. "I thought I'd never see this again!" Charlie's hand reached out to touch what he'd thought he never could. The Factory that had always been beyond his reach was his ceiling now, closing the hole through which he'd yearned for it for years. He caught his breath as he noted the detail, his fingers hovering above the picture of his memories.

"But you said you'd miss it, so I thought I'd make it," called up Willy.

Charlie struggled for something to say. He just wanted to look. In colored pieces, it was the exact view he'd fallen asleep to, every night, for as long as he could remember. This really was, his home, and he was home, and it was better than ever.

"Is it glass?"

"No, my dear boy, it's the first incarnation of your eatable window idea," Willy laughed. "It's the one part of your house you can eat, if you're not a termite."

"But if I eat it, I won't have it."

"That you know that is one of the reasons you're here. Choices have consequences that ought to be considered. But in this case, I… we… can make another."

"We could," floated down Charlie's soft voice. "One for each season."

The other Buckets had begun to crowd around, trying to see for themselves. Making room for them, Willy slipped towards the door, and when he had reached it—Charlie doing a fine job of keeping his family occupied with his discovery—Willy slipped away. Nora was the first to notice.

"We thanked the Oompa-Loompas, but we didn't thank him."

"We'll have years to do that, dearest," said Noah. "Years."


Thank you readers, reviewers, and those of you who fav and/or follow. I do not own Charlie and the Chocolate Factory in any of its many forms, and there is no copyright infringement intended.

So how 'bout that? If you got your socks back on, off they go again with three updates in one month. ;-)

07kattho: It has been a long time, hasn't it? Thanks for sticking with me. Now that the move portion of The Move is over, things will really get crazy tying up the loose ends with that dentist. *wicked grin* Linkwonka88: Thanks. If you asked, I couldn't tell you what made me think of that game, but the more I looked into it, the more it was perfect. Squirrela: Charlie's been so patient, for so long, I didn't think it fair that he not be in on it. And there's nothing like sharing a secret to bring people closer together; Willy's a crafty dude. Here's hoping you liked the more of Georgina in this. Sonny April: Thanks for your review! I know what you're saying, but as Mr. Wonka ('64, '72) pre-dates the BFG ('75, '82), and they are both into nonsense words, I'm gonna stick with Mr. Wonka in my tiddlywinks-previous-life-incarnation theory. Given the timeline, Mr. Wonka may well have taught the BFG everything he knows. Or maybe... they had a common acquaintance who taught them both everything they know... ha!