AUGUSTUS GLOOP

A few days had passed since word had been sent all around the world of Willy Wonka's Golden Tickets and the newsagents was buzzing with customers.

It was certainly the busiest Tony had seen for a while.

People were piling their hands with Wonka chocolate bars in the hope of finding tickets and throwing money on the counter left, right and centre, always more than enough, and then they would stuff the bars in their pockets and exit.

"Wait, your change!" Wendy called after one when they put an extra ten dollars on the counter.

"Keep it!" the woman yelled back and, before Wendy could even blink, the woman was gone and there were more customers before her eyes; the sight of all those people in such a hurry to get the bars home and rip the wrappers off, with the hope of finding a golden ticket inside, making her slightly dizzy.

Shaking her head, her eyes focused once more and any spare change any customer was leaving behind, Wendy put into the charity box.

She knew Mr. Barratt's wife was very sick and so Wendy had suggested to Tony that they put together a charity box to raise some money for her operation.

Once all the human traffic had cleared that day, by half past eleven, no less, not even three hours after they had opened, an older gent calmly approached the counter with a newspaper.

As Wendy took the dollar coin from his offered palm, she noticed the headline;

'FIRST TICKET FOUND IN GERMANY'

The man looked down at the girl before him, wondering why she was so interested. The front page picture told him all he needed to know.

"Greedy thing," he deduced. He only needed to look at the photograph to realise, as the large boy held a golden ticket in one hand, a bite mark taken from one corner, a half-eaten chocolate bar in the other and the brown substance all over his face.

"Good luck to him, I say," Wendy sighed, doubtful that she would ever be that lucky.

"Why? All greed does is leave them wanting more." He reminded her strongly of Grandpa George.

"No, what I meant was that he's lucky to have won one. When you consider that there are only five in the world, it's a great privilege to get one at all," Wendy smiled, weakly.

The man eyed her for a moment. She could be quite philosophical at times and he was seeing her now.

"How old are you, young lady?" he asked.

"Sixteen," she replied, in a quiet tone.

"I'll admit you should be in high school, but I admire your opinion. I can't think of very many people who would think like that. Very intelligent girl. I'm sure you'll go far." And, picking up his paper, he left for the door. "Toodle-oo!"

As Wendy restocked the shelves that afternoon, she began to ponder absent-mindedly of what it would actually be like to enter that wonderful factory.

It was right on her doorstep and she couldn't help but wonder what actually went on inside it.

For years, not a single person had ventured in or come out of that factory.

"I wonder how he does it?" she mused.

It wasn't a stupid question, by any means. Exactly how could he run such a large factory on his own? He'd have had to have help from someone, or he'd probably lose his mind running everything himself.

Shaking herself out of her trance, she made up her own answer. "Must be someone he trusts; someone who asks for so little, but gives so much. Like Grandpa Joe."

But then, Grandpa Joe had been dismissed years earlier, along with all of Mr. Wonka's other employees.

After all those recipes being handed out by his own workers, how would he manage to trust others again?

She'd have to consult Grandpa Joe on that one later.

"First sign of madness, that," Tony teased, playfully, "talking to yourself."

At least she'd get the answers she wanted to hear.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realise I was doing it." She laughed nervously, a tad embarrassed.

"Don't be sorry. I do it all the time. You can't fall out with yourself," he said. "You were thinking about those tickets, weren't you?" He'd certainly known Wendy long enough to understand how her mind worked.

"Yes," she sighed, dejectedly. "I just can't help but wonder what it's like in there. I don't suppose I'll ever see it, but it's nice to dream."

"Or is it a wish?" Tony asked. "Are you perhaps not Wendy Bucket, rather Cinderella?"

Wendy just looked at him, completely baffled, which made him laugh.

"A dream is a wish your heart makes?" he said with a grin.

"I think I read too much as a child," Wendy replied.

It wasn't often books came into the Bucket household, but when they did, they were usually presents for Wendy and she never put them down. It helped as well that her major gift for her eighth birthday was a library card and whenever she could she would go to borrow a book or two and read a little bit every night before bed.

"Well, I must say I'd always thought you were a bit of a bookworm; not that that's a bad thing. At least, I know what I can get you for your birthday."

"You don't need to get me anything," Wendy told him. "You're nice to me and that's better than any present I will ever have."

Tony sighed and knelt down beside her, deciding to give her a hand in restacking the shelves, though he had other motives.

"I've never known anyone else like you, Wendy. I've just been thinking about that boy," he said.

"The one who's just won the first ticket?" she asked.

"Yes," he clarified. "Seemed very greedy; not something I've ever known you for, but you've never had much. You know, I still remember the day you came to me – hair in messy braids; dirt on your face, but very sweet. I sincerely hope you get what you want, girl, because if those other winners are like that gluttonous brat then the only one who truly deserves it is you."

Wendy looked away from him at this. "I don't deserve anything, Tony. If I get one, it's nice; if I don't nothing's changed," and with that she got to her feet and entered the storeroom.

"God bless you, girl," Tony whispered after her. "You deserve more than what you've got now."

That night, Wendy walked home far more slowly than usual. She took one glance at the factory, before focusing her eyes on the snow-covered cobbles, subconsciously kicking a plastic bottle as she went.

Just before she entered her home, though, picked the bottle up and threw it in the nearest bin.

As she entered, she slowly approached her grandparents' bed and hugged each one of them in turn, though it was all done half-heartedly.

Grandpa George gave her a questioning look, as she then went to greet her father, who wasn't exactly over the moon, either. Even hugging her mother, Wendy, wasn't happy.

She was just being downright selfish. There were people in third world countries starving to death and all she seemed to care about was a silly ticket.

In the background, the television was on and the six o'clock news was coming to an end.

"And finally, the first Wonka golden ticket has been found in Germany by one Augustus Gloop," the announcer said.

Noah raised the volume slightly with the remote control, as the channel flicked from a newsroom to a butcher's shop, wherein a family of three stood, each member just as big-boned as the last.

In front of a skinned sheep stood a big beefy man in a white hat and overalls splattered with blood; in his hand he held a meat cleaver.

Beside him was a rosy-cheeked woman wearing a black suit that looked far too small for her large frame and in between them stood blond-haired boy with chocolate all around his mouth and on his hands. Just like the picture in the paper that day, he held in front of him his semi-complete golden ticket.

"So, Augustus, how did you do it?" a German reporter asked the boy.

"Vell," Augustus began, "I am eating ze chocolate and zen I taste some-sink dat is not chocolate, valnut or peanut butter or caramel, or shprinkles. I look down and I find ze golten ticket."

The flashing of cameras could be heard, as the reporter continued. "And how did you zelebrate?"

"I eat more candy!" Augustus replied, as he delved deep in his pocket, produced a Wonka bar, ripped it open and began scoffing.

"Revolting," Grandma Josephine said, disbelievingly.

"Told you he'd be a porker," Grandpa George said, happy his assumption was correct.

"No good can come from greed, Wendy, remember that," Grandpa Joe told her.

She smiled slightly, before her eyes focused on her father who was now rather distant.

"Daddy?" she called, gently. "What's wrong?"

"What?" he asked, shaking his head. Clearly he'd been pondering as Wendy had a few hours before. "Oh, just something at work; nothing for you to worry about," he answered gently.

"They've laid you off, haven't they?" Wendy asked.

"How did you know, darling?" Helena asked, surprised.

"I could sort of tell. Daddy's rarely miserable. But you don't have to worry, any of you. I can earn enough money for all of us. I promise you, we won't starve."

A/N: So there's another one. Not too sure about it and I've probably repeated things from previous chapters, but it's the best I can come up with at the moment.