On February 14th, Willy Wonka's marvelous factory shut down. Unlike that day so many years ago, there were no rumors or mysterious tales about the shutdown. Everyone knew it was due to the pending litigation from Slugworth. Everyone knew that the eccentric chocolatier, the magical candyman, had finally made a mistake that might cost him everything.

Everyone was right, but everyone was also wrong.

The lawsuit would be set to rights in no time. Charlie had been worried about it, but Mr. Wilkinson had explained to him how it would go. While Mr. Wonka was loathe to reveal any of his secrets, he did keep copious notes. They had plenty of documentation to prove that, while Wonka and Slugworth may have ended up with similar ideas, they had both been working on their ideas for months and approached them from very different angles. Charlie had been surprised to learn about the notes; he couldn't recall seeing Mr. Wonka ever write anything down, but likely he kept the information in his office and not in the Inventing Room.

Charlie was utterly distraught over Amalda. She had not returned to the factory, nor could Charlie find any way to check up on her. He was sure Mr. Wilkinson would drive him to her shop, but that would mean informing Mr. Wonka where Charlie was going. He knew that wouldn't go over well.

Mr. Wonka's rage had burned for days, causing him to snap at the Oompa Loompas, berate Charlie for things beyond the boy's understanding, and produce batch after batch of gum drops so sour that they made your mouth pucker in on itself. Charlie thought the gum drops might actually be marketable under the right circumstances, but Mr. Wonka was having none of it and had tossed them all into the furnace with the rest of the trash.

It was even worse when Mr. Wonka's temper finally did die down. In place of his anger, there was a kind of somber melancholy that settled over his countenance. Every expression was colored with sorrow, every action was tempered with regret. Laughter disappeared from the factory and even Charlie's family found themselves dispirited, wincing after each smile, as if any sort of joy might cause Mr. Wonka to be more aware of his lack thereof.

Charlie had no idea what to do about any of it. He'd tried to bring up Amalda once, only once, and had never dared try again. He'd tried to remain upbeat, making clever comments or jokes whenever he could, but the lack of any sort of reaction stymied him. Mrs. Bucket had even gone to talk to Mr. Wonka once, after he missed one too many family dinners, but she wouldn't tell Charlie what they'd spoke of, only frowned and pursed her lips and shook her head. Mr. Wilkinson seemed content to weather the storm in silence, obeying Mr. Wonka's directives as he always had without any comment on his employer's mood.

Charlie had almost despaired of things ever returning to normal when someone pounded on the front door. He paused in confusion. No one ever knocked on the door, let alone pounded. Normally he wouldn't even have been in an area where he could hear it, but he'd taken to wandering a bit whenever he left the increasingly gloomy confines of Mr. Wonka's office. Even as Charlie curiously drifted closer to the entrance, Mr. Wilkinson appeared and swiftly strode up to the door, yanking it open to silence the intrusive noise. Charlie peered over his shoulder.

A miserable-looking man stood on their doorstep. Even though the early Spring weather was unusually balmy, he had his collar turned up and his hat pulled low, as if afraid of being recognized. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets and he huddled as close to the door as possible, hunched as if nervous. He eyed Mr. Wilkinson's severe countenance, then his eyes flicked to Charlie.

"I work for Amalda McCaine," he said gruffly. "Let me in before someone notices."

Charlie could picture very well the doleful glare that Mr. Wilkinson was likely shooting at the stranger. "Sir, I'm afraid you must-" he began, but Charlie stepped forward quickly.

"You know Amalda?" he asked, then flushed. "I mean, Ms. McCaine?"

Mr. Wilkinson was still cautiously blocking the doorway, but he did step slightly to the side so that Charlie could see properly. The man eyed Charlie up and down and Charlie braced himself for a snide comment about his age, but the man merely gave a jerky nod of his chin.

"How is she?" Charlie asked eagerly. "And how do you know her? Who are you?"

The man merely sighed. "Look, do you really want to do this right here? The news reporters are watching this place like vultures. I don't want the attention any more than you do, I'm sure. Let me in or send me away, but I'm not having this conversation outside."

Charlie exchanged a look with Mr. Wilkinson. Charlie raised an eyebrow. Mr. Wilkinson lowered his. Charlie pursed his lips and Mr. Wilkinson shook his head but stepped back further, conceding the silent battle and allowing the strange man to step inside. As the door shut behind him, the man looked around anxiously, not seeming at all reassured to be out of public sight.

"So, uh…"

"Why don't you start with your name and how you know Ms. McCaine?" Charlie drew himself up, trying to look more like the important co-owner of an important business.

"Damien Byrnes," he said, "and I'm sure you must be Mr. Charlie Bucket. No, don't worry, Mally doesn't gossip about you. But I read the papers like everyone else. Lucky kid." He fluttered his hands as if to wave away the stray comments. "Anyway, I'm her illustrator for her books. She sends this, by the way." He shoved a parcel wrapped in brown paper into Charlie's hands. "Or she would if she knew I was here. Maybe."

Charlie turned the package over in his hands, baffled. "She doesn't know you're here?"

Damien scoffed. "Of course not! She just keeps saying she's fine but anyone with sense can see that she's heartbroken, and with the timing and-"

"Heartbroken?"

Mr. Wilkinson was the only one who didn't jump. Damien's eyes widened and he quickly doffed his hat. Charlie spun to find Mr. Wonka standing at the end of the corridor, as if he'd come around the corner just in time to hear the last bit of their conversation. His eyes were fixed on Damien.

Charlie stepped between them, gesturing. "Mr. Wonka, this is er…Ms. McCaine's illustrator, Damien Byrnes. Mr. Byrnes is here because…er…"

"She's. Heartbroken." Damien no longer sounded timid. Charlie gulped and hurriedly shuffled back from between the two men.

Damien's mouth was twisted into a grimace and he clenched his hands at his sides. "From the moment we met, yeah I knew who you were and I knew you would be trouble. But I told myself, whatever makes her happy, right? Don't believe everything you see on the news, Damien. I'm sure Mr. Wonka is charming and not at all creepy or dangerous or anything else those stories claimed. Amalda wouldn't get mixed up with anyone like that, right?" He snorted, gesturing dramatically. "And yet, here we are."

Mr. Wonka's eyes blazed and spots of color had appeared on his cheeks, but he merely folded his hands in front of him and tilted his head, studying Damien as if he was some strange new bug. "Oh, I'm trouble?" He began, in that deceptively mild voice that disguised his anger. "Charming and creepy and dangerous. You flatter me, sir."

Damien scowled. "You're an ass, Willy Wonka!" He took a single step forward, arms canting upward slightly as if he intended to pummel someone.

Mr. Wonka…snapped. He closed the distance between himself and Damien, his cane appearing as if from nowhere and brandished in his hands in what might have been a defensive gesture but might also have been a threat. "She betrayed me!" He snarled in Damien's face.

Damien, to his credit, immediately raised his hands, palms out, in a placating gesture and took two large steps away. He was gaping at Mr. Wonka. "What are you on about? Betrayed you how?"

"You said you read the news," Mr. Wonka fumed. "How do you think?"

"You think she told old Slugworth something?" Damien asked incredulously.

"Or maybe just told someone something," Charlie piped up, then ducked behind Mr. Wilkinson when both men turned their glares on him.

"Who would she tell?" Damien demanded. "She barely even goes anywhere, 'cept here. The only people she talks to socially are me and Julia, and she doesn't…" His voice trailed off. A crease appeared between his brows as he frowned in thought.

"What?" Mr. Wonka snapped.

Damien blinked at him, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly a few times. "It's…it was…" He laughed a bit wildly. "It was in the cafe, it had to be. We were talking and there were so many other people around."

"Then she shouldn't have been talking about my secrets!"

"No you great idiot." The derision in Damien's voice brought Mr. Wonka up short. "It wasn't her. It was me." Three pairs of eyes stared at him in shock and Damien drew a hand threw his hair, tugging at it in frustration. "I saw the flowers on her desk. I asked about them and she got all coy, but she let me taste one. And then I saw Julia later and she asked me how Mally's date went and I- And we- We just care about her and we were talking about how happy she was, and why, and the flower might've come up." He took in a gasping breath. "And there were other people around, customers, we weren't paying any attention."

"And so you ruined everything with your gossip," Mr. Wonka said softly, almost sadly.

"We were just talking about how happy we were for our friend."

"Were you?" Mr. Wonka was watching Damien through narrowed eyes. "Were you happy for her? For us?" He paused. "Or did you wish it had been you?"

The ruddy anger was stripped from Damien's face as he paled in shock. He breathed in slowly, then out. "Maybe," he eyed Mr. Wonka. "Maybe. But you've got me all wrong if you think I'd interfere when she's clearly already made her choice."

Mr. Wonka blinked at him, surprise and a hint of uncertainty flickering across his features.

"I'd unmake it for her, if I could. But I can't, and she won't ever look at me the way she looks at you. So you better start thinking how to unmake your mistake instead. She deserves she much better than your false accusations." He shoved his hat back onto his head. "But either way, I'll be there as her friend to pick up the pieces."

And with a terse nod to Charlie, he pulled open the door and stepped back into the night, yanking if forcefully shut behind him.

For a moment in the wake of his departure, the only sound was the ringing echo of the slamming door. Charlie and Mr. Wonka stared at each other. Mr. Wilkinson made a discreet exit under the pretense of checking to make sure Damien actually left the premises.

After a moment, Charlie wordlessly held out the brown paper package.

Mr. Wonka recoiled from it as if it were a poisonous viper. "No," he said simply, backing away. "No more of these games."

Charlie lowered the package uncertainly. "What should I do with it?"

"I don't know. I don't care. Burn it." He spun on his heel to stride away. "Throw it in the incinerator and let it all turn to ash." His voice was cold, so cold, but it broke on the last word. Charlie reached for him, to do what he didn't know, but it was too late. Mr. Wonka was gone.

Willy rested his elbows on his half-desk and buried his hands in his already-snarled hair. Nothing had felt right since his disastrous pre-Valentine's date with Amalda. And now he had to ask himself, was he what had gone wrong?

Was it possible?

He'd replayed every conversation with her in his head a million times, looking for hints to her true sly nature, without ever considering that maybe there were none. Nothing he had missed, because she was exactly what she seemed to be: a kind, creative, talented woman who had cared for him.

Had. Past tense.

He revisited their final, confrontational meeting once more. It was true, he hadn't given her a chance to defend herself. He had barely listened to what she did say. He hadn't even listened to what Charlie had said, as his protégé struggled to find a reasonable explanation for what might have happened.

He could almost see it. Amalda floating around her bookshop with a dreamy smile. Damien stopping in and enquiring about her good mood. Amalda blushing and refusing to share any intimate details, but since Damien knew who Willy was, gushing to him about the magical and delicious flowers. Later, Damien sitting at the bar at Julia's, telling the lady what impossible standards Amalda's beau had set, perhaps going on a brief rant about how unfairly wonderful an edible chocolate bouquet was. A vague shadowy figure sitting further down the bar, or perhaps at a table nearby, casually leaning in closer to listen.

Oh yes, it was very possible.

Willy began to fear that he had made a terrible mistake.

For the moment, there was nothing to do about it. The lawsuit must be dealt with first, and then…

And then.

As fate would have it, the next phase of their legal defense began the next day, when Belinda Stolp arrived with great to-do. She'd attempted to bring enough pastries for everyone at the factory, including each Oompa Loompa, which caused an immediate celebration. When Charlie remarked, somewhat dumbfounded, that she could have just used the factory's impressive ovens and done her baking when she arrived - they certainly had whatever ingredients she might need - she had looked momentarily embarrassed and then waved it off, insisting that a guest should arrive with gifts, not monopolize the host's kitchen.

Belinda Stolp was the secret key witness to Wonka Industries' defense against Slugworth. Willy and Belinda's casual correspondence had turned vitally important once they realized that it was written, dated evidence to prove that Willy had been planning his flowers for months, even discussing some of the evolution of his idea in ways that showed he was developing it on his own. It had not merely appeared, fully formed, as it would have if it had been stolen from someone else.

When Willy stepped into his office after the impromptu feast welcoming Belinda back to the factory, with said woman following close behind him, Charlie was sitting at his own small half-desk. Willy narrowed his eyes. He was reading, if Willy was not mistaken, a book by A.L. McCaine.

He suspected Charlie had come to the same conclusions that Willy had, perhaps even more quickly since it seemed to have been his opinion all along that Amalda would never have betrayed them. But that was not a problem to address in front of Belinda.

Charlie's eyes lit up when he saw the portly woman. "Ms. Stolp!" he exclaimed, setting aside the book and jumping to his feet.

"Dear Mr. Bucket, it's Belinda, please!"

He grinned at her. "Then it's also Charlie, please."

"Of course it is, Charlie," Belinda said warmly, then immediately stepped in to hug him. Part of Willy cringed as he witnessed the casual affection, but Belinda was a trusted friend and Charlie certainly didn't seem to mind, receiving the embrace as easily as he might from any of his family members. Willy's appreciation of Belinda grew in that moment, as he himself had been greeted with a clasping of hands and a friendly pat on the shoulder, and he saw now that such gestures were in her nature, but she knew him well enough to refrain from giving him the same bear hug that she'd bestowed on Charlie.

Mr. Wilkinson arrived shortly thereafter and the true planning session began.

It was later into the evening and after Belinda had been invited to dine with them, as she was packing up her notes and Willy was conferring with Mr. Wilkinson over the last details, when Belinda noticed the book sitting on Charlie's half-desk.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "Is that Amalda's latest?"

"It is! Have you read it?" Charlie snatched up the book and held it out to her.

Belinda nodded. "She sent me the text but that was before the art was completed. I simply must see her while I'm-" She had flipped open the book and then paused on the inside cover, her eyes darting over unseen words. "Oh, oh my." Her eyes filled with tears and she sniffled. "Well, that explains the dedication. You have a treasure in that one."

She handed it back carefully and then turned to Willy, completely aware of the awkward silence that had descended. "When do you expect to see her again? Will she be coming by?"

Charlie and Mr. Wilkinson both looked to Willy. While Wilkinson's face was carefully neutral as always, Charlie's expression was almost accusatory. "Erm," Willy said. "No."

"Ah," Belinda said after a pregnant pause, nonplussed. Her eyes darted between them. "Well, no matter. I have her address so I'll just have to stop by and see this shop she's made for herself." She collected the last of her things and mercifully let the subject drop. "Now, supper?"