Thank you for reading. Please forgive my grammar, as I am aware that it is not the best.

January used to be a hectic month for the Bucket family. It was always the same long list of inevitable responsibilities, trailing behind the dawn of each new year.

Fortunately, lots of things had changed for the better now that they were living within the great chocolate factory. Mr. Bucket still left for work, Mrs. Bucket still took care of household necessities, and Charlie continued to attend school. However, the biggest looming burden of poverty had been lifted clean off their shoulders and for the first time in many, many years, the Buckets could go about their business with light hearts and genuine smiles.

No longer did they need to depend on the smallest crumb of bread or spilled drop of stew to drastically steer their fates to or from starvation. To live without such worries was truly a blessing, and the Buckets felt it every day.

It was the third, wintrous day of January, and Charlie Bucket was soon to almost officially become apprentice and heir to Mr. Willy Wonka for a two full years. Ever since Charlie and his family had begun living with the chocolatier, there had been very drastic changes made to his daily routine, making him a very busy boy. In fact, he was probably even busier than Mr. and Mrs. Bucket, which was quite something indeed.

After graduating from primary school, Charlie found that his new seventh grade teacher was much less forgiving when it came to their workload. He'd be piled with so much homework every day that the length of his free time was almost always cut in half. And now, even this would be mostly taken away from him since every last available moment he'd have was spent with Mr. Wonka, who had slowly but surely begun showing the factory in its entirety to his heir, nooks and crannies included.

It was arduous but exciting work, and never once did the boy complain or fuss. The role of a chocolatier's apprentice was never to be taken lightly; he remained highly alert and attentive, listening carefully to everything there was to be heard and observing everything there was to be seen.

However, it was evident that Charlie was not the only one nervous about this new development in schedule. Mr. Wonka, clearly not used to doing this sort of thing, jumped and flittered about restlessly every time they embarked on another "private factory tour". It was mostly just the two of them when there were no Oompa-Loompas loitering around, and unable to revert himself to using the same facade of exaggerated cheer on dear little Charlie as he had with the entire Golden Ticket crew, Mr. Wonka would often visibly struggle with keeping certain emotions at bay.

Charlie, for the most part, would politely ignore all the stutters and stumbles, doing his very best to keep the man happy. A bit of careful observation made it clear that Mr. Wonka grew most delighted whenever he made Charlie smile or laugh, so the boy did just that, whenever the opportunity arose.

Not once had he ever needed to fake a reaction though, as all of the factory tours he'd gotten so far had warranted more than enough reasons for such expressions of joy to last several weeks. Every time Mr. Wonka's eyes twinkled just a tad brighter, his anxious smile grew slightly warmer, and shoulders seemed a bit less taut and flight-ready, Charlie's own heart would swell with happiness of his own, thrilled at the prospect of the chocolatier warming up to someone like him—so simple and ordinary and entirely unlike even a fraction of what his mentor embodied.

As such, on this near two-year anniversary of wonderful times at the factory, it would only be natural for one to be excited. However, the boy was currently far from excitement or anticipation for his upcoming birthday in the next few weeks. In fact, he'd barely spared any thought for it at all.

...

Charlie Bucket was slouched uncomfortably over his small desk, writing furiously on his arithmetic worksheet. It had occupied the entirety of his afternoon and still seemed far from being completed. Not only that, but his English booklet from the day before was also spread wide open on the bed next to him, awaiting its turn.

Never again will I procrastinate, Charlie thought to himself miserably as he counted on his fingers. I can't afford to be sitting here dividing and subtracting when there's work to be done.

Today was a Sunday, which meant no work for Mr. Bucket. While the nights were cold, the toasty warmth of the factory kept any chills out of their bones and there was no need to worry about shovelling snow or pulling on extra layers. Before preparing dinner, Mr. and Mrs. Bucket gathered round the old grandparents' bed. They called their son down, who leapt up and joined them at once for he was all too eager for a break.

Upon his arrival, Mrs. Bucket smiled warmly. "Hello, Charlie."

"Hi Mum," he said. "Hi Dad, Grandpa Joe, Grandma Josephine, Grandpa George, Grandma Georgina."

"Hello," greeted the grandparents cheerfully.

"So," Mr. Bucket began. "The big day is coming up in a few weeks, eh?"

"What day?" Charlie asked curiously.

"Why, it's going to be your birthday!" exclaimed Grandpa Joe. "It's not every day a young man turns twelve, is it?"

Charlie nearly fell off the edge of the table where he was perched. "Yes," he stammered, dazed at the fact that he'd somehow forgotten the existence of his own birthday. He'd always looked forward to them so much that such a thing would have been unimaginable a few years back. "I don't suppose so."

"Well?" Mrs. Bucket prompted. "Have you thought of what you'd like for your present yet?"

"One candy bar is more than enough," he told her with a smile. "Just like before. It's what I've always gotten so far." Although it had only been because they couldn't afford anything else for the special day, the whole thing now felt like a sort of tradition.

Mrs. Bucket sighed. "Charlie, we would have loved to gift you so many things. Back then, one bar of chocolate was the best we could do, but things are much different now. It's been almost two years since we've moved, so it must be better than all the others you've had."

Charlie flushed almost instantly. "You don't need to do that," he insisted quickly. "Besides, I was already thrown the biggest birthday party of my life last year, remember? All of the Oompa-Loompas were there as well. With this whole factory, I think I've gotten just about everything a boy like me could ever wish for."

Last year, as a result of much begging and protesting for months and months on Charlie's end, he managed to convince his parents, Willy Wonka, and even the entire Oompa-Loompa gang to gift him with nothing but a single chocolate bar. On the day of the party however, sneaky Mr. Wonka had insisted on pointing out that the boy failed to specify exactly what size chocolate he wanted, and Charlie ended up unwrapping the paper to a bar of Whipple-Scrumptious Fudgemallow Delight so enormous that it towered over their heads.

"Yes, but all birthdays are supposed to be special," Mrs. Bucket said kindly. "Sometimes it's not always about the gift itself, but the meaning it holds in its giving. Your father and I wanted to do something nice for you, even if it will probably never be as extraordinary as all of this..." She gestured around herself, meaning the factory.

"You really don't need to," Charlie began to protest again, but his mother hushed him.

"If you can't think of anything at the moment, that's all right," she assured. "We still have a couple weeks left! Now, why don't you finish your homework, and then you can go see if Mr. Wonka is joining us for dinner tonight."

"All right," Charlie agreed eagerly, grinning. He dashed back up to his bed where his arithmetic sat where he'd left it. A quick check of the analog clock leaning against the bedframe told him it was ten past four. Charlie scribbled half-hearted answers on the worksheet, unable to muster the patience to check them. The English booklet could wait another day.

Within twenty minutes, he was shouting his goodbyes over his shoulder as he hurried out into the Chocolate Room, and across the meadow to the door leading into the corridors.

When he first began living in the factory, it took him quite a while to acclimate to the chocolatier's bizarre schedules. At first, Charlie had wanted to work their tours around what would be considered a normal day's itinerary, which included the breakfasts, lunches, dinners, and bedtimes. However, he soon discovered that Mr. Wonka's eating and sleeping habits were far unlike Charlie's (or anyone else's), and he was reminded several times a week that he could quite literally call for the man "at any gosh-darned time he felt like".

Still, not wanting to seem disrespectful, Charlie had spent the first few months refraining from seeking Mr. Wonka out during general lunch and dinner hours, and especially past ten o'clock at night. The last thing he wanted to do was interrupt or disturb his privacy. These days, Charlie knew not to worry so much about those things. True to his word (and also to Charlie's growing concern), Mr. Wonka never seemed to partake in anything that resembled "private time", and always seemed to be out doing something chocolate-related twenty-four hours a day. Today would be no different.

Once, Charlie and his whole family had been woken by a fanfare of trumpets bellowing through the factory-wide intercom at four in the morning, which turned out to be a technical malfunction on Mr. Wonka's end. Supposedly he had been using a "disconnected" microphone ("It must not have been very disconnected, after all!") to test the volume of his Musical Sugar-Bowl candies all night long.

The boy approached the entrance to the Great Glass Elevator and pressed the button to summon it. Upon the Elevator's arrival, he entered and began the search for his mentor.

Said search did not take very long. As half-expected, Charlie found the person he was looking for in the Inventing Room, leaning precariously over a gargantuan aluminum tub that was partly filled with a blue, bubbling liquid. Mr. Wonka seemed to take absolutely no notice of his visitor whatsoever, so engrossed he was in trying to scrape something off the inside of the tub that he completely missed the way Charlie hovered awkwardly by his side for a full three minutes.

Deciding that waiting to be discovered could possibly take hours, Charlie carefully cleared his throat as quietly and softly and unshockingly as he could physically manage.

"Ahem."

"Whistling whangdoodles!" yelled Mr. Wonka, jumping off his footstool and almost a foot into the air. Thankfully, he toppled backwards and not into the tub of whatever molten liquid was simmering away, and landed ungracefully with a deafening crash against a plethora of metal pipes. The impact caused dozens of small, bright colored candies to explode out of the many pockets of his plum-colored coat, and scatter noisily across the floor in a great rainbow shower.

"Mr. Wonka!" Charlie shouted, rushing over to help the man to his feet. "Are you all right?"

"My Jeepers!" cried Mr. Wonka. "You scared the Jeepers out of me!"

"I'm very sorry, I should have been more care—"

"No, no, I've lost my Jeepers! Look, they're everywhere!" The chocolatier scrambled around on his knees, trying to gather all the small candies that had rained out of his pockets. "Help me, please!" The two of them spent the next ten minutes crawling on all floors and scraping up every last candy they could find, even reaching far under some of the machines for the stray ones. By the time they were finished, Mr. Wonka had gathered up all of his Jeepers, but they were both covered head to toe in dust bunnies.

"I'm very sorry," Charlie repeated guiltily, his heart still pounding in his throat. This had not been the first time he'd startled the man like this. Two months ago, Charlie had nearly sent him tumbling straight into a pair of very large, automatic grinders that ferociously crushed huge ice blocks into fine powder. The machine stopped operating the very instant something warm touched its churning gears, but some strands of Mr. Wonka's hair had been sucked in and they ended up having to chop an inch of his locks off, along with a corner from his coat sleeve. And just last week, Charlie had curiously approached a large, minty effigy lying on the middle of a wide surgical table. Right when he began reaching out to touch it, Mr. Wonka had saved him by yanking him back by the collar, a mere fractional second before the entire candy beast suddenly sprang to life and snapped at him with giant, crocodile jaws.

But just as he had countless times before, Mr. Wonka waved his apology away. "No worries, Charlie, no worries at all! I always get a little jumpy when I'm miffed, oh yes. This Stretch-n-Glow Caramel is driving me off the roof! Every time I try to add the corn syrup, it gets all blue and hard in lumps. Who's ever heard of blue caramel, anyway? Ew. And they never melt unless I soak them in liquid gold for about thirty hours. This is the seventh time I've had to replace this tub!"

"Why do you have to replace them?" asked Charlie, standing on the tips of his toes to try and peer over the large rim.

"Because the tub melts too," explained Mr. Wonka. "Not only does the liquid gold melt the lumps of Caramel, it melts the solid aluminum container it's in! Rather inconvenient, I must say."

"Couldn't you use a tub made of something else instead?" asked Charlie. "Say, something that doesn't melt in liquid gold?"

"Why, what an excellent idea! I'll have a new tub of steel made right away, though I am not sure how that'll affect the candy. We'll just have to see!" The chocolatier reached for the dial on the humming generator beside him, which he twisted so the heat died down and the tub stopped its simmering. "Now, does this mean you're free for the rest of the day?"

"Yes!" Charlie answered excitedly. "I've done all my schoolwork for now. We can go exploring again!"

"Fantastic!" said Mr. Wonka, grinning. "There is still so much to show you! Follow me!" They hurried over to the Great Glass Elevator, where it had been standing by near the round entrance to the Chocolate River. Once they entered, a purple-gloved finger pressed a button that read, WHITEY-SMILEYS. At once they were whizzed away on a slantways descent.

"What's this one about, Mr. Wonka?" Charlie asked, craning his neck to read the label near the top of the Elevator.

"Something groovy," answered Wonka, his eyes bright with excitement. "It's one of my most extraordinary inventions!"

Charlie hummed pensively. He thought that every single one of the man's creations was nothing short of extraordinary, but with the way Mr. Wonka was bouncing on his heels, he wondered just what sort of extra fantastical room was awaiting their arrival now.

He had long since realized that while they saw many amazing things during the tour with the other four children, the sights they'd come across that day had not nearly been enough. A few measly hours couldn't have even begun properly addressing the sheer enormity and magnitude of Mr. Wonka's ingenuity. Why, Charlie had been living here for almost two years, and he still had yet to see all the rooms!

"I am still amazed with just how many rooms this factory has," he commented, voicing his thoughts out loud as he studied the rows and rows of buttons. There were still quite a few that they hadn't pressed yet, and most of them were out of his reach at the very top, where the labels were more difficult to read from the height of an eleven year old boy.

"But my dear Charlie, this is hardly all of them!" said Mr. Wonka, his eyes twinkling. "There are tons and tons of other rooms that don't have buttons here. If they did, this entire Elevator would be covered in them from head to toe!"

"Then how do you get to the rooms that don't have buttons?" Charlie exclaimed.

"I use the other Elevators, of course!" answered Mr. Wonka. "Other ones with different buttons on them. Yeah! I just gotta remember which one carries which." He suddenly winced, as if the thought had brought back some less than pleasant memories.

"How many Great Glass Elevators are there?" asked Charlie, flabbergasted.

"I dunno," said Mr. Wonka brightly. "I just kept having another one built, and then another one, every time I ran out of wall space. I've only thought about getting to the right room that I've never really kept track; they all look the same, anyway. Hey, look! My Musical Sugar-Bowls!"

Charlie peered out of the Glass Elevator, and saw that they were indeed passing the room where the Sugar-Bowls were being blown. Only a faint trickle of music was heard before they were whooshed away. "No more wake-up calls at four a.m, then?" he asked jokingly.

Mr. Wonka grimaced with contrite. "I'm sorry, that really had been rude," he mumbled. "They're coming along nicely, I think. I've also got a new set of microphones for the job." They both giggled, while their ride continued on at a fantastic speed.

Suddenly the walls whizzing past them all around changed color from a neutral grey to a charcoal black. The course started to level out of its descent, and the Elevator started to slow down. "We're almost there!" They were whooshed along to the left, then right, then left again.

Finally, they came to a halt around the bend, and the doors slid open with a merry ding.

A/N: This story is based off the 2005 movie, which showed the Great Glass Elevator only having buttons on one wall. I understand this was probably for aesthetic and cinematographic reasons (having a bunch of buttons on the clear glass would obstruct the viewing of the main actors), but since the book depicts all four walls (and ceiling!) being covered in buttons which, given the sheer size and scale of the factory, is probably more 'correct', I thought 'well all those rooms need to be quickly accessed somehow and if Depp!Wonka hadn't felt like squishing every button into one Elevator then maybe he's got more of them,' haha.

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