To me, I've always believed that Meg and Erik would get along like a house on fire, simply because of their differing but also similar personalities. At the very least I've always thought that our dear Meg could give the Phantom's stubborn and witty streaks a run for their money.
The following is mostly movie-verse, though it could be easily interpreted as having some Leroux mixed in for good measure.
Good Company
Too warm.
Good Lord it was just too very warm!
She slipped into the twisted hallways of the Opera and skittered nervously past her mother's door. If she was caught prowling around like this... Oh she couldn't bear to imagine it! To say the least it gave Meg Giry the willpower to employ all of her ballerina grace to slip soundlessly through the sleeping world of the Parisian Opera House.
Where, you might wonder, would a heat-crazed young woman be going at such an ungodly hour(The clock had just struck two, she believed)?
Why, to the rooftop, of course. It was like Meg's little haven. No one went to the trouble of climbing the steps leading outside, and she kept it a very good secret– not even Christine knew. She stepped lightly when she ascended, feeling the blissful cool of the breeze-swept roof long before she had pushed open the trapdoor.
Silent like a specter(Or a ghost She thought giddily) Meg hopped onto the stone ceiling of the Opera. She breathed in with relief and was stunned to hear an equally loud breath– this one of shock.
She spotted a black blue that fled from the edge of the building. It had been sitting at her spot, between two gargoyles. She could hang her feet over the edge with both stone monsters constantly assuring her that she would not fall. How strange. Who else could have possibly been...
"The Opera Ghost!"
"Yes?" The voice came from everywhere and no where. Meg had been about to flee to the safety of her own room, but what a story it would be to tell! She, Marguerite Adeline Giry, having a conversation with the real Opera Ghost! Oh it would be splendid! "Opera Ghost?" She called again hopefully. How she hoped he might do something truly horrific! It got rather dull having to make up stories day in and day out.
"I said yes."
He sounded a bit impatient for an immortal spirit, but Meg sat down on the spot he had recently vacated, feeling a wonderfully dreadful tingle go up her spine. Sitting where a ghost had sat! Terrible, terrible business, but she would persevere for her audience. "Why were you sitting here?"
"Are the dead not allowed rest?"
She chewed her lip, struggling for a witty reply. She had heard from her Maman herself that the Opera Ghost liked someone with wit. And if he liked her he would surely do something frightening for the girls to hear about. "'It is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.'" She said sharply, unsure just what it meant, but feeling the need to say something.
A laugh echoed through the rooftop. Not the dark, evil sort of thing she might expect from a ghost, but a light airy sound. "Charles Dickens. Very good, Little Giry, though I should hate to be compared to Sydney Carton."
She puffed up a bit with praise and smiled into the empty darkness. "My maman used to read to me."
"It would not surprise me, Madamoiselle."
Meg shook her head and let the cool breeze whip over her face, drying the sweat that had been accumulating. "You know my maman, Monsieur?"
The voice seemed to hesitate. "Yes, I suppose. To a certain extent."
She nodded and traced one of the gargoyle's eyes with her nail. "She's spoken about you. Not to me, but I overhear. I don't snoop though..."
The ghost seemed to be unwilling to speak again as Meg rattled on about all sorts of things she could overhear her mother talking about on a given day. Madame Giry, after all, was a very busy woman and had no time to be constantly checking for stray ears. He let her continue on about her day, even listening to a long and epic tale about something he himself had done(She supposed it must sound much better when someone told him how everyone reacted).
The clocktower rang three times, which jarred young Meg from her stories. She looked around the rooftop and gave a short laugh. "I suppose the opera ghost fled half an hour ago..." Pity, but it felt nice to pretend that someone was listening.
"I'm here, Little Giry."
She smiled and leaned against the stone gargoyle, resting her head on it's massive girth. "For a ghost, you're very good company." She said brightly.
The ghost's voice sounded as calm as ever when it replied. "For a brat, you're slightly more bearable than the rest."
She turned indignantly, but his laughing voice led away, back into the building.
Too warm.
Sweet Mary, it was just too very warm!
Meg Giry, Prima ballerina of the newly reconstructed Opera House, left her room and tiptoed past her mother's bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, but she could see those sharp eagle eyes were closed. She was safe, and so continued to creep through the winding hallways, copying the path of her childhood. She could walk it blindly, but tonight she felt stressed and warm.
It took four wrong turns before she found her way to the winding stairs. Imagine, ten years(Meg was eighteen now) and it still looked the same as always. She began climbing, tracing the wooden rail with a finger as she went. To think, a whole year since the 'incident'. A whole year she and her mother had lived off spare jobs and whatever they could afford.
It felt good to be back. Leaving this place had been like leaving a good friend.
The cool air slapped her face and Meg inhaled gratefully, pulling herself out of the trapdoor and straightening her nightgown before hearing a peaceful sigh and looking up. This time it was her breath that was exhaled in shock.
"Opera Ghost?"
Two golden yellow eyes lighted on her and he seemed to hesitate before looking back out at the city. "Yes?" He sounded just as impatient as those years ago. When she had been just a young teen.
"Why are you sitting here?"
"Are the dead not allowed to rest?"
She felt her lips flit into a thin smile, and Meg surprised herself by approaching the Ghost and sitting beside him, letting her shoeless legs hang next to his longer ones. She looked up at him, astonished by his height(She had never stood shoulder to shoulder with him before). "Are we going to repeat the whole conversation, Carton?"
His shoulders were tense, perhaps she was unnerving him. His lips drew into a frown and the light glistened on the white mask– she still had the other, but he was bound to have spares– as he seemed to think. "Fine. Why are you sitting here, Little Giry?" He looked down at her and she held up under his intense gaze.
"Is a Prima Ballerina not allowed to be warm?"
He smirked then and swung his feet against the brick side of the Opera. "Heat rises, I'm afraid. If you were simply warm you would go to the cellars. Why are you sitting here, Little Giry?" She flushed under his stare this time and wrung her fingers. Why was she outside talking to a murderer? That was hardly a good idea.
Nevertheless Meg was not a girl who could leave a question unanswered. "I can see De Chagny estate from here." She admitted sheepishly, looking away when his already tense shoulders became like wooden boards. It surprised Meg when he suddenly relaxed. She looked up and saw his face was impassive, perhaps just a bit saddened.
"You miss her." He murmured.
"So do you." She replied quietly.
Meg looked up at him after a long moment. "I went to the wedding, of course. But it didn't feel like I was really looking at my– our Christine. She looked like a poodle."
The ghost snorted and she blinked at the humorous noise. He sighed and chuckled under his breath. "Yes... those were my exact sentiments."
"You thought she looked like a poodle, too?"
"Yes, I'm afraid so."
They shared a look and smiled at each other, falling back into silence.
Folding her arms, Meg broke it. "Monsieur Erik, for a ghost, you're very good company."
He glanced down at her. "Madamoiselle Giry, for a brat, you're slightly more bearable than the rest." She huffed indignantly again and he laughed, surprising them both until Meg giggled along as well, slapping his thin shoulder lightly.
She looked back out at the city and heard him shift.
Meg looked up and Erik stared back, crouched at the trapdoor. He grinned at her then and laughed softly, disappearing into the dark.
This time she shared the merriment, then took chase.
Sydney Carton is a famous character from Charles Dickens' A Tale of Two Cities. He sacrificed his own life for the woman he loved to escape Paris during the French Revolution with her chosen husband, becoming a very popular heroic character in literature. A bigger man than Erik will ever be, I'm afraid. Still, a delightful read.