Phantom of the Opera 1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own any story associated with Phantom of the Opera.

My first attempt at writing fanfiction…I've been an avid reader of it forever though. I'm just in one of those hopeless Phantom of the Opera spells right now. Hope you enjoy!

**Chapter One**

Christine wandered down the wet, dark tunnel, unable to feel afraid. It was all she could do to remember how she got here. She had spent a relatively normal day rehearsing for the upcoming production of Hannibal, and she thought that after the hours of dance practice that some solo music lessons would be nice. Plus she thought that sitting would be a nice change. Meg had asked if she would like some company, but Christine assured her that she would only be in there for less than an hour, and she would go to bed immediately afterward. While she did intend to sing alone, there was always the possibility that the ethereal voice from within the walls would join her, so she almost always declined company while singing. She recalled sitting cross-legged on the floor of her dressing room while singing to her reflection, watching her facial expressions and making sure to keep her shoulders and back straight (as a certain teacher had instructed her to do), when something odd had caught her eye. There was the slightest gap in between the frame of the mirror and wall, and it would have been otherwise impossible to spot it had she not been sitting so vainly close to the mirror, as plenty of sixteen year old girls do. Mildly interested, she had only meant to stick the tip of her finger in the gap to inspect it, and to see if perhaps the mirror was hanging crookedly on the wall, when the whole thing shifted one inch to the right and sent cool air rushing into her face, which in turn earned a complete and utter look of shock from the young ballerina and immediately piqued her interest. Naturally, curiosity got the best of her, and before she could think to grab Meg to see this amazingly terrifying discovery, Christine slid the mirror the rest of the way, revealing the long passageway. It only took a moment for her to put on an average-looking, thin robe and some slippers that happened to be nearest to her, grab a candle, and descend into the unknown darkness.

* * *

The Phantom sat quietly in what he called his home, arranging his diorama for the next night's presentation of Hannibal. He had every intention of making it possible for Christine to sing the beautiful melodies for the lead role, so naturally he had her preparing for the solos as of late in what one might call their sessions. He also knew, though he refused to consciously acknowledge it, that he planned for Christine to see him face to face for the first time after the performance. He had known for some time that they would have to meet in person at some point, or rather, that she would have to meet him in person, and he concluded silently to himself that it could only be after a moment of great triumph for her, partly because she would be in awe from the entire evening, and therefore might react better, and partly so that he could relish in her success and triumph. He liked to think that she owed her buttery smooth voice to him, but he knew all along that her voice was a gift that could only be bestowed on her from birth. He just so desperately wanted to share it with her. It was only then, in that moment, so lost in thought, that he realized he was simply holding the figure of her and staring at it with what he could only guess might be complete adoration painted on his face. He owned many mirrors, yet he never looked in any of them, and so he could only feel his facial expressions through emotion rather than knowing how they looked displayed on him.

He very carefully set the figure back where he had it originally placed, and decided to pay Christine one last visit for the evening, and one last visit before she was due to perform the following night. She just didn't know she was to sing, yet. An almost wicked smile crossed his face as he thought of what misfortune would befall the screeching Carlotta the next afternoon. As he stood up, though, he heard a distant, yet distinct, clamoring about. His entire body went still, and he quickly regained his composure and silently gathered his gloves. Somebody was close to his lair.

"Company…" he muttered darkly to himself. Not for the desire to murder or terrify someone, but more of a bitter and resigned type of audible thought. Company was the last thing he wanted, save for one person. But that would be impossible without great effort on his part. He eyed a length of rope on the rocky ground, contemplating on whether to scare the intruder off before they made it too far or to deal with it quickly so as to prevent further exploration by others. He deftly picked it up and quickly bundled it. He thought to himself that it would be best to just decide when he gets to the person, for he would surely get to them before they made it to him.

* * *

Christine had made it through what seemed like miles of hallways and down a few flights of stairs before she completely lost her nerve. After she saw a few rats and had a cockroach scuttle across her feet, she decided she was way in over her head and had no business being in this seemingly secret part of the opera house. She had of course heard all the talk about the opera ghost, but she never could believe it or pretend to believe it as much as the other girls did, so her growing fear was not of a specter come to throw a noose around her neck. Surely this ugly, dark passageway had to be some route used by the maintenance crew, or a city crew, and the route to her mirror was just a seldom used, forgotten path. But as she neared a large, winding staircase and saw just how far down it went, she realized it must be connected to the catacombs of Paris, and not even the bravest soul had any business being down there. She would just get back to the safety of the dormitories and tell everyone of what she had found, so that she wouldn't be so alone in keeping this terrifying piece of information a secret. Then something could be done to ensure that her mirror could never open like that again, and the wall would be completely filled to how she assumed it to always be. To think that the other side of her mirror opened up to this labyrinth made all the hairs on her arms and neck stand up. Perhaps it would be best to just change dressing rooms altogether.

As she turned rather quickly to hurry back, her foot caught an unseen step and she dropped her candle stick, causing a loud clatter and sending her candle rolling several feet away from her and extinguishing in a puddle. "Oh…" She cried softly, not because she jammed her toe when she tripped, but because her only source of light went out. "No…" She muttered helplessly, suddenly feeling very alone. How stupid she had been to come all this way. For all she knew she wasn't even at the opera house anymore! She could be far away underground somewhere in Paris. These thoughts continued swirling through her head as she hurried through the dark, holding up her skirts with one hand and running her other hand along the wall, using it as a guide. Too terrified to cry, she suddenly had the sensation one has when they instinctively know they are not alone, that she was running from something, or someone. She made her legs move faster, and only hoped that she was picking up her pace, as she couldn't see anything.

* * *

The Phantom half walked, half jogged down a small passageway parallel to where the intruder was running. Whoever it was didn't have a light, so he could only assume they lost it somewhere along the way. Naturally, as he wished to remain unseen, he didn't light the candle he had with him, and only relied on his well-adjusted eyes, as well as the knowledge of his whereabouts, to guide him. He had found the person easily, and now as he moved in the tunnel adjacent to the main corridor, he relied on intersecting passageways to let him know the person was still running, evidently trying to escape. He sneered quietly, reveling in the knowledge that they must sense his presence, and it caused them fear enough to turn back and run away. They had most likely already made it to the staircase, however, and he guessed from what he knew about human nature that if this one escaped there would be more later on. The fate of this stranger sealed, the Phantom quickly side-stepped through an intersecting hallway and into the path of the escapee, who promptly fell smack into him with a scream.

* * *

Christine knew too late as soon as she heard the swish of fabric that whoever was with her down there was right in front of her, so the scream was already out of her throat before she even collided with them. As soon as her body hit the body of this tormenter, however, the atmosphere quickly changed and this terrifying stranger remained perfectly still.

* * *

The Phantom grinned as he heard the scream, then recognition hit him like a ton of bricks. He had heard this sound, this voice, a hundred thousand times over. He had heard come it from a little girl playing with her adoptive sister, arguing with ballet girls, crying, singing, and speaking. All the while getting more beautiful as the owner of the voice got older. His expression twisted into agony in the dark as he shoved the rope into an inner pocket of one of his many layers. He was disgusted with himself. His arms reached out to steady her, and before he could help it, he breathed her name. "_Christine._" It wasn't meant to get her attention. He was just identifying what was in front of him before he knew he had even spoken. He felt her entire body freeze, and for a few seconds they stood there like that. They were both frozen with fear; she for her life, and he for considering taking her life. He heard her intake a lung full of air, undoubtedly getting ready to scream, and quickly yet gently shushed her. "Ssshhh, calm yourself, ssshhh. It's alright, Christine…" He could feel her body tense again. He hated to make her uncomfortable, to scare her. He just needed to reassure her.

Christine's head started to swim. She was so terrified, now this voice, the familiarity of it, she instantly knew the voice as her Angel of Music. "What, how…" She couldn't seem to get any coherent words out. "It's you…how..?" And she was crying from confusion and fear and relief. The Phantom took this opportunity to try to soothe her. Anything to keep her from screaming. He didn't want to take the chance of someone hearing her, and it would also cut his heart like a knife to have her screaming in fear of him. For his biggest fear would be for Christine to fear him.

"Don't cry, Christine, don't cry, you're alright, you're safe…" He wanted nothing more than to grab her with all of his might and hug her endlessly. For now, he only held her shoulders very lightly to steady her. He hated for her to meet him like this, for he knew he could never undo this encounter. He didn't want the first time to speak her name right in front of her to be like this. He wanted to say her name to her face in a much more meaningful setting, as a means of praise in the light. Not in the dark as a means of quelling her terror.

Christine felt like she might faint, and all she could manage to get out was "You _do _have a body."

The Phantom froze. He quickly replayed a conversation in his head that he had had with Christine just a few short weeks ago during one of his deceptive sessions. He had watched her from above, where she couldn't see him. He noticed she was playing with the fabric of her dress a bit more than usual and inspecting the ends of her hair far more than she normally did. She had asked about the details of his existence point-blank, yet still tentatively. "Do you have a body?" It had taken him aback so much that all he could do was ask her what made her curious. She had explained that she couldn't get Meg to believe an angel was tutoring her and keeping her company. The Phantom had realized at that moment that her faith in an angel was dwindling along with her childhood, and the faith in the existence of a man was sparking along with her womanhood.

The Phantom gulped. Never had he been put on the spot so suddenly in his entire life. This girl had no idea what she did to him, the effect she had on him.

He was broken from his reverie in just enough time to feel her go limp in his arms.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own anything associated with the Phantom of the Opera.

Author's note: Thank you to anyone and everyone who read the first chapter. I love reading fanfictions. I never realized how difficult it is to actually write one. I hope everyone who reads this enjoys it, even if it's just a little bit .

**Chapter 2**

It was with a start that Christine woke in the dormitory she shared with the other ballerinas. They were all bustling around her, oblivious to her presence and more concerned about getting ready for the big day. Christine tried unsuccessfully to blink the sleep from her eyes. Had it been a dream? She looked down and saw that she was in her nightclothes, which would be normal enough under any other circumstance, yet she was sure she had fallen unconscious somewhere else, and in completely different attire.

"Christine, what are you doing?!"

Christine looked up and saw Meg standing above her bed, holding her ballet shoes. "You're going to be late, you know. You really shouldn't fall asleep in your dressing room." At this point, Meg had taken a seat at the foot of Christine's tiny bed and was busying herself with lacing up her shoes. Christine stared at her in disbelief.

"Five minutes, ladies!"

Madame Giry's quiet, yet stern voice could be heard from the hallway outside of the large room the ballerinas shared. This seemed to break Christine out of her stupor, and she rushed out of bed and began to yank her nightclothes off. "Oh, Meg, you could have woken me sooner!"

Meg rolled her eyes as she tied the final bow into place on her leg. "Don't you think I tried?"

Christine looked back guiltily at her friend. "I'm sorry." She then turned to the small mirror above the basin that all the girls took turns using and splashed water on her face.

Meg looked up at her, then stood up and smoothed out her leotard. "It's alright. You're just an unusual girl sometimes."

Christine smiled at her friend's teasing as she bent down to gather her shoes.

Within minutes, Meg was gently towing Christine by the elbow towards the line of girls exiting the dormitory. Madame Giry stood at the door, and was coolly telling them good morning and inspecting their practice clothes as they passed by her. As Meg and Christine exited last, the ballet instructor's eyes lingered on them a little longer before she gracefully marched ahead, explaining to the girls their instructions for the day. Christine looked over to Meg. "You did say I had fallen asleep in my dressing room. How did I get to the dormitory, Meg?"

Meg looked over at her calmly, truth obvious in her little face. "Oh, I woke just as Maman was leaving. She said she found you asleep, having been practicing your singing, and walked you to your bed and helped you to undress. You must have been so tired that you were never fully aware of where you were."

Christine frowned at this and nodded, but said nothing. Perhaps it was a dream.

* * *

The rest of the day started as planned. The girls had their breakfast, then filed down to the stage and practiced their routines for the Hannibal performance that was scheduled for later that night. Christine and Meg joked and chatted quietly as they practiced while Madame Giry was turned away, and Christine was able to momentarily forget the strangeness of whatever the previous night was as she stretched and exercised her body over the following hours. It was only when she heard the words "imminent retirement" that she finally snapped out of her concentration and focused on the group of men standing in the middle of the stage. All eyes were on them.

One of the men was the current manager of the Opera Populaire, and two of them she didn't recognize. She listened quietly as her now former-manager explained that these two cheesy-looking characters were to be the new managers. It didn't make much of a difference to her. She was a ballet girl, and men of their class typically didn't acknowledge any of the cast, save for the leading roles. The only authority that applied to her was that of Madame Giry, and her Angel of Music….her Angel of Music! She almost gasped out-loud, and quickly composed herself. She shifted uncomfortably as the rest of the night came back to her. Upon waking, she had remembered the cold, wetness of the secret passageway she was sure she had discovered, and the air of mystery that surrounded it, as well as the vague sense of fear she had. It was only then, standing in the middle of all those outlandish theatre performers, with the distant drone of men talking, that she remembered the rest. The vague sense of fear had been pure terror, and she had heard the voice of her secret Angel right in front of her! She felt dizzy as she remembered his velvet voice telling her she was ok, and she thought she might faint as she remembered with burning accuracy the lightest feel of cool hands resting on her upper arms. Red tinted her cheeks with embarrassment as she remembered her own words. '_You do have a body'. _Thinking back, the words seemed so simple and borderline foolish, but at the time it had been the biggest revelation of her life at the opera house. She was certain the voice coming from the invisible body that had been mere inches from her in that darkness was that of her Angel of Music. She stared dumbfounded at the floor of the stage for what seemed like minutes.

"….the Vicomte de Chagny!" Christine's head snapped up at this. Meg noticed, and turned to give her an inquisitive look. Christine stared openly as a young man walked forward and began introducing himself.

"It's Raoul." She said, not realizing she was speaking out-loud. It was then that she was aware of Meg waiting for a further explanation. "At my father's house, by the sea…" Meg continued to look at her friend, then back at the new Opera patron. Christine smiled innocently. "I guess you could say we were childhood sweethearts." She kept looking, then added as an afterthought, "He called me Little Lottie."

Meg smiled warmly, sure of an inevitable romance blossoming between the two. "Christine, he's so handsome."

Christine smiled in agreement as she listened to her childhood friend talk. He had the air of an upper-class socialite, and he carried himself like one. She intentionally stared at his face, sure that he would at some point catch her eye and immediately recognize her. He did glance over in her direction every now and then, and each time her heart would skip a beat with the anticipation of reconnecting with him. However, his eyes would graze over all of the ballet girls, as well as the rest of the cast, as he finished up his introduction. He turned to exit, and Christine's heart sank as he walked right past her. Meg looked after him, then back at her friend. Christine smiled sadly. "He wouldn't recognize me." Her eyes slid to the floor.

Meg looked helplessly at her. "He didn't see you."

* * *

From above in the rafters, the Phantom watched everything unfolding with fury and curiosity blazing in his eyes. He had waited until Joseph Buquet wandered off to go get more alcohol from his stash to take his place next to the curtain rope. He knew that one of Carlotta's rants would be inevitable, so he was deciding what exactly to do for her sabotage based on her behavior. If all else failed and she behaved perfectly, he had already decided he would just tie her up before the performance or trap her some other way. Anything so that Christine could perform that night. He had watched as Christine sat deep in thought throughout the rehearsal, and had marveled at the blush that tinted her cheeks and left as quickly as it had come. He had gazed intently at her face as emotions flew across them, as her brows furrowed and relaxed, and as she pursed her lips. He almost laughed out loud when she suddenly seemed to realize how she looked and tried to compose herself. He wanted more than anything in the entire world to leap down and beg her to tell him everything she was thinking about, and for her to tell him earnestly without acknowledging his mask. But, he thought bitterly to himself, stalking would have to be enough for now.

After watching her a few moments longer, however, he knew that she must be thinking about their meeting in the passageways under the opera house. He knew she wasn't stupid, and that she wouldn't just simply write it off as a dream. Especially if she could recall even a fraction of what he had felt that night. After she had fainted in the passageways, he caught her and had carried her back to the mirror, trying with all his might not to hold her body close and cradle it. He had walked the whole way holding her out and away from him, as if he were doused in kerosene and she was a spark. The slightest touch would set them both ablaze. As he reached the mirror, he could see Madame Giry standing in the dressing room, silently simmering with rage. He had quietly stepped through the hidden doorway and gently laid Christine on the floor. Madame Giry looked at him, silently demanding an explanation. He let his eyes linger on Christine only for a moment, before he finally looked into the face of the older woman. "I found her wandering. She got frightened and fainted, so I carried her back. Nothing more." He had spoken so quietly, for fear of waking Christine, that he wasn't even sure if Madame Giry had heard him. Her eyes left his and trailed to the contours of the white mask covering half of his face. The Phantom understood her silent question. "She never saw me." He almost hissed. Madame Giry nodded. He had wanted so badly to scoop the unconscious girl back up and storm out of there, never to return. He wanted to owe this woman no explanation whatsoever, but it was not up to him to rob a young girl of her present life and give her a newer, darker one. Not yet, at least.

"She must think this a dream." The older woman had quietly, yet forcefully stated. The Phantom looked back at Christine, and moved his head only slightly, indicating his agreement. With that he turned and left, moving quietly back down the dark passageway. He turned only once when he knew the mirror was secured shut, and could make out through the frosty, double-paned glass the outline of Madame Giry kneeling next to the girl and lightly touching her shoulder.

But now, up in the rafters, as he had studied Christine's face and heard the words she shared with her little friend, he couldn't believe this idiot young man didn't recognize her. Christine was a blazing torch in a dark room, and this fool just strode by without a moment's glance in her direction. The look of disappointment on her face was unreal, and the Phantom wanted to snatch her up and fill up the void that the young Vicomte had left with his own affections and have her readily accept them. His heart ached for her affection. "Affection…" He muttered under his breath. How could he silently expect so much of her when he hadn't even properly shown himself to her?

His thoughts were put on hold as Carlotta prepared to sing. His hands found the rope on their own accord, and he squeezed it tightly, ready to unravel it.

* * *

Christine was soon forced to push her hurt feelings aside as the music started up. It was her cue to perform with the other dancers, and as she leapt and twirled she was only vaguely aware of the new managers leering at her and the other dancers as Madame Giry led them around. She could hear Carlotta's shrill voice piercing the air, and then everyone stopped. Carlotta had flown into another tantrum. Christine could only guess as to why she was casting a finger at the men who were supposed to be in charge of her job and yelling at everyone around her.

"Perhaps if she would sing as pleasantly as we dance then they might pay attention to her." Meg said matter-of-factly in her little voice. Everyone rolled their eyes and looked for a comfortable place to sit amongst all the stage equipment when they heard the managers start to beg Carlotta to sing for them. Within minutes her voice had pierced the air again, only this time she was cut very short by the falling curtain. It only hit her legs, but it was enough to make Carlotta slap the wooden floor of the stage and act like she had been stabbed in the heart. She haughtily gathered up her things, and dramatically left the opera with her entourage of servants following behind her.

Christine was looking down at her feet, pretending to straighten a ribbon, when Carlotta had stormed past. She didn't want to be caught staring for fear of Carlotta's reaction. She had kept her back to the managers as she heard them squawking about refunds and the opera ghost. Madame Giry must have received another letter. _Opera ghost, _Christine thought to herself. She silently remembered the short amount of time she spent down below the opera house. It had seemed like hours at the time, but looking back, if she really had gone down there and wasn't dreaming, she was only there for no more than thirty minutes. Up until this point, she had only thought of the voice that she knew as well as her own speaking reassuringly to her and the fact that it had arms, but now she knew that she must acknowledge to herself that a _man _was down there with her. A man was the owner of that voice. Her hands stopped playing with the ribbon wrapped around her leg as this thought sank in.

"Christine Daae could sing it sir."

Her head whipped around when she heard her name.

* * *

The Phantom made his exit as soon as he was sure that Madame Giry followed his instructions. And just in time, too, seeing as the drunken Joseph Buquet had clambered back to his post to ramble out excuses as to why he was gone. He knew Christine was about to sing. He had heard her perform this song a hundred times. He was the one that taught her to properly sing it! But he didn't want to spoil it for himself this time. He would wait until she was singing at her performance. Besides, he had to rethink how to best present himself to her now. He quickly retreated back to the safety of his underground world.

* * *

Later, Christine stood in her dressing room, dressed and ready for her new leading role in Hannibal. As soon as she sang in front of the managers, rehearsals let out early and she was ushered off to receive last minute instructions for the role, then she was brought to her dressing room to get ready. She stared at the mirror and studied the edge of it, looking for the gap she was sure she had seen the night before, but this time it looked like any other mirror. There was no gap. She even tugged on it, but it didn't budge. Christine briefly considered smashing it, but decided that would just end up being a giant mess to clean up and get scolded for. Her eyes turned to the small desk beside the mirror that was covered in candles and had a framed picture of her father on it. She looked at the paper and vial of ink, as well as the pen, and settled for writing a simple note. She knelt down and quickly prepared the pen with ink, and wrote in her neat, small writing one question. She folded the paper up and set it carefully on the floor. She looked around, half expecting a ghostly hand to come out of the mirror and snatch it up. When nothing happened, she decided to reach out to her Angel of Music. Whoever or whatever he was. Despite her confusing thoughts, she still liked to hear his voice before a performance.

"Angel of Music…" She sang out softly. Her voice was like tinkling bells. Her big, bright eyes searched the room as she half-smiled in anticipation. She heard nothing in return. Christine sighed, then turned for the door just as Madame Giry knocked from the other side.

"Come now, my dear," Madame Giry said warmly as Christine opened the door. The older woman took her by the hand. "You haven't much time." Madame Giry shut and locked the door behind them, and the pair of women hurried to join the rest of the crew backstage.

* * *

The Phantom stood on the other side of the mirror, then slowly sank to his knees. "Christiiiine…" He sang to no one as a belated response. He looked at the note, then unlatched the mirror from his side and carefully slid it open. The air from the room caressed his face, save for the part of it concealed by the stark, white mask. It smelled of flowers, and was a pleasant change from the smell of stone and water that lingered behind him. He picked up the note and carefully opened it.

'Will I meet you again?' The pretty writing was almost audible.

The Phantom's breath caught in his throat. He closed his eyes, and concentrated on breathing normally. He stood up after a moment, and entered the room. He scribbled out his own note in response, and set it in the place of Christine's note. He then pulled out a rose from his cloak, complete with a black ribbon, and set in on top of the note. He turned and stepped back behind the mirror, and slid it closed. This time, he made sure to secure the latch shut. Satisfied for the time being, he left to take his place in the opera house that would allow him to hear Christine's voice. Christine's note to him was tucked away safely in a pocket on the inside of his vest.

Hannibal commenced.


End file.
