These Things Do Happen

By Yuki Okuda

Disclaimer: Nope, don't own The Phantom of the Opera. Sorry, kids. To whoever's in power: Don't sue me, please.

Warning: Honestly, do I have to put a warning on my story? It makes it sound poisonous or something. Anyway, I intend to make this a slash at some point (Erik/Raoul) so if you don't like slash then please do not read this.

(A Very Short) Prologue

The sanctity and silence of the Opera Populaire rarely ever broke these days. Devoid of its dancers, singers, stagehands, and musicians it now sank into a quietness that never broke, other than the occasional skittering of a rat.

This is why it came as such a surprise one day when several people marched through the dilapidated front doors. Talking boisterously and gesturing widely across the room, they held up blue prints and discussed what they could do with the place.

There wouldn't be a whole lot they could do.

The great fire had occurred only a few months back, burning and ravaging the place of any of its former beauty. Scarred statues, destroyed curtains, and ruined stage were the only things left intact.

"Now, gentlemen, it may look rotten-" A young man assured his partners, smiling politely, "-but it once poured in tens of thousands of franks a night."

"Yes, that may be well and true," M. Louran murmured, beady eyes fixed on the boy in front of him, "but you, my fine sir, are very young. You do not know what the public wants."

"Exactly," M. Jeroux finished. He ran a hand through his thick, white hair, leaning heavily on his cane to support his tiny body. "What makes you think the public will want anything to do with a cursed place?"

"Sirs, there is no need to worry. The news of the fire has disappeared from the papers. The public's eye is no longer on this place. I am more worried about hiring a new cast than I am about these seats being filled."

"Hmm..." M. Louran rubbed his chubby chin thoughtfully. "I am not so sure about this, M. Jeroux."

"And what do you say, M. du Chagny, about the so-called Phantom of the Opera?"

Raoul smiled stiffly, clasping his hands tightly behind his back. "Why, sirs, if there even was a phantom to begin with, he has long disappeared." Receiving their disbelieving stares, he continued, "The police have extensively searched the building and found no evidence of this 'phantom'."

Raoul grimaced as the lies tumbled out of his mouth. He knew for certain that the police had discovered a lot of evidence pointing to the Phantom's existence. These men didn't know that though, and what they didn't know wouldn't stop them from offering him tons of money...

They nodded after a long moment of silence. "And you can assure us that you will pull in a large profit?" M. Jeroux questioned, ancient eyes staring at him flatly.

"We will pull in quite a large profit. You will never have to work another day in your lives, as long as you offer me a little starting sum..." Raoul finished charmingly.

"One hundred thousand francs is not a little sum, Vicomte. However..." M. Louran sighed, "I would be willing to offer my services."

"As would I." M. Jeroux put in.

A real grin split across Raoul's face. Finally, things would get under way once more...

Erik frowned, head snapping up from the work in front of him. The sound of feet stomping over head ripped him from the sweet call of the violins and flutes. Growling, he got to his feet, cape sweeping behind him. Who dared disturb his silence?

He moved quickly through his lair, like an unseen ghost who voluntarily chose to limit itself to the laws of physics, but only just so. Erik moved swiftly and silently down the darkened hallways, eyesight perfect in the pitch black. He roved up the spiraling staircases until the light of the opera house finally fell upon him.

He dared to glance out into the light from the shadows, eyes widening at the sight before him.

Dozens of men marched around his opera house. Yelling, spitting, cursing, and laughing, they disrupted the perfectly beautiful silence. Their muddy boots dirtied up the wooden floors while they hauled in all kinds of heavy lumber. The sound of hammers echoed throughout the specially designed theater, racketing loudly.

"Hé! Hé! Vous!" The director yelled over the sound of construction. "I said not to reconstruct anything. We're trying to replace the damage, not build a new theater."

Erik raised an eyebrow, curiosity taking over his initial anger. Replacing the damage to the theater? For what purpose?

Nothing went on in his theater without his approval and Erik had every intention to get to the bottom of these intruders.

A/N: Oh my goodness, I haven't gotten into writing for a long, long time. Hopefully if I put this out there I'll actually feel like I have to write more. Here's hoping.

Sadly enough, I haven't gotten around to buying the book yet, so this story is generally based around the movie.