My Boy, Lollipop

Author's note: Okay, I recently went and saw the newer version of, "Charlie and The Chocolate Factory" and knew I'd be writing fics on it, so here's my first of probably many

It had been a month since Charlie and his family moved into the Wonka chocolate factory. Things couldn't be better. Charlie had friends left and right at school, no longer were children teasing him for being poor, but begging him to come over to his house after school. He didn't wear old charity-donated clothes that were the fashion of the decade before. He now wore stylish clothes children wore in the present time. His mother slept better, his father worried less, and his four grand parents now moved about, no longer simply waiting to die in misery. Charlie was a good boy, a sweet boy, and a very enjoyable boy. He didn't say anything snotty, or talk back. He did as he was told and had a positive outlook on almost everything. Willy Wonka was actually beginning to wonder how he ever did without him.

"And then she asked if there would ever be chocolate seashells," Charlie said as he walked down a long corridor beside his boss/teacher/student/savior or whatever else you would call Mr. Wonka, "do you think we could make them?"

Willy Wonka scratched his nose.

"But Charlie, my dear boy, isn't this the same girl you said called you a hobo and refused to share her class cookies with?"

Charlie shrugged.

"Yes, but that was a long time ago."

"I think you should laugh good naturedly followed by a stern, 'no'."

"But Mr.Wonka," Charlie still stuck to formality, "that would be cruel."

One thing that bothered Mr. Wonka about Charlie was the fact that he didn't have a mean bone in his little body. He had never heard him talk badly to his parents, nor about them, or anyone for that matter. He was too nice. Too sweet. Too utterly adorable. His parents were lucky to have such a delightful boy.

"Okay, okay," he said, "we'll work on chocolate seashells, but for Miss 'I'm too good for Charlie Bucket' can we stick a crab inside?"

Charlie smiled, his button nose wrinkling slightly and he said, "you're rather silly sometimes."

"Yah, okay, then tomorrow we will make chocolate seashells!"

Charlie frowned.

"Sorry, I can't."

"You can't?"

Willy Wonka stopped and frowned.

"Why not? It's a Saturday, isn't it? Do little people like you go to school on Saturdays now? My, how time has changed."

"No, no," Charlie smiled, "I'm going to the zoo with my dad."

"Oh."

Dad. It was one word Willy wished didn't exsist in his apprentice's vocabulary. Oh, how nice it would have been for Charlie to had been an orphan. Who knows? Maybe he would have even looked at him the way he did his father and call him, "Dad." However, Charlie had parents and neither was Mr.Wonka.

"Maybe Monday."

"Monday? What's wrong with Sunday? Going shopping with your mommy?" He chuckled.

"Yes, actually."

"Oh, I see, how very, er, nice."

"Is something the matter, Mr. Wonka?"

"What? Oh, no, my dear boy, everything's just peachy keen."

That night, Willy sat in his own personal 'clinic' on a red sofa as his 'therapist' (an oompa loompa in a suit and tie) drew doodles on a notepad pretending to listen to him.

"I don't know why, his family is nice and all, but I don't like Charlie liking them. I guess that's rather mean, but..."

He shot up and stared at the Oompa Loompa.

"You're kidding? I'm jealous of his parents! No way! Well, wow."

The oompa loompa nodded and sketched a cocoa bean dancing in a hoola skirt. Mr. Wonka stood up and grabbed his cane.

"Well now," he said, "there's only one thing to do."

The oompa loompa lazily looked at him. Willy smiled and aimed his finger at him.

"That's right," he said, "I have to make my little Charlie hate his parents so he'll like me, and only me, and then I can be his parents! You're like a psycic! You know that?"

The oompa looma shook it's head and went back to its doodling.

As for Willy, there was much to be done. It would be as bitter as a milk dud (eww, the awful things) but as sweet as candy in the end!

To Be Continued...

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flies away on a jetpack