Author's note: If you're reading this, Hello! So, I'm not a huge fan of Phantom of the Opera, but after seeing the movie, I decided to write this for my friend, xStormyNightsx, who happens to be a HUGE fan. I did try to make this story kind of like the original plot, but I did try to make it quite different and tragic as well. Hope you enjoy! (except you, xStormyNightsx, you can never be happy ;D)

Christine found herself humming a familiar melody as she left the dance room and headed towards the library. It was one she had sung before, one she knew the words to. Soon the sounds of teenagers filled her eardrums, filling them with the sound of chatter, yelling and laughter. The halls began to crowd as students of all grades rushed to exit the school, now that the day was over, but Christine's mind was stuck on the tune, unable to forget the words.

The Phantom of the Opera is there

inside my mind.

She entered the library quickly, hoping for the chance to check out a book she needed for her English class before the doors locked. The words replayed themselves over and over again, she almost didn't remember the title she was looking for. A, B, C . . . What was the author's name again? Was it Shakespeare? Christine was so caught up in her own world for a moment that she almost didn't catch the quiet music that has slipped its way through the cracks of the door. Yes, she knew this song. It was the song, of course it was. How could that be? Was this just a coincidence? But no, she knew it wasn't. It was him. She pushed her way out of the room to the now empty hallways, and followed where the music seemed to be growing from. She was led to the school theatre, and the sounds of an organ coming from the stage. There he was.

A few months before . . .

She had never seen him before. Not in the halls of the school, not in any classes, nor the cafeteria. But she saw him now. What first caught Christine's attention was that he was looking at her, but he didn't face her, not directly. At first she didn't think he was looking at her at all, so she turned her attention back to the chemistry homework that was sitting neatly in front of her. It was supposed to be hard, but it didn't seem that way to her. She only paused occasionally to tap the eraser of her pencil against her lip and gather her thoughts. Once again, she found herself looking up to see him staring back at her, this time his face tilted in her direction. Even from this side of the study hall she could tell something was off, not necessarily in a bad way, but in a way that peaked her interest. Rising slightly, she peered at him. He looked handsome, likely a senior, only a year older than herself. He didn't look away.

The clock read 2:04 PM, less than thirty minutes to the end of school. She hadn't been looking at the clock for more than a few seconds before looking where the man, or boy, had been. There wasn't much time left of her spare period in study hall. Normally she wouldn't stray from the room, but just this once, Christine decided, she would follow this thread of wonder. It led down the hallway, one of the only empty one's she had seen that day, which was normally full of freshmen. She was stopped in front of a large room, where the music was loudest. For a brief moment she paused and soaked it in. An organ was being played in a way that felt like she had turned into the lyrics themselves, and she had no choice to be brought in at the right time. A small voice in her mind wondered what to sing, but somehow she knew. She opened the door and began to sing:

In sleep he sang to me, in dreams he came,

that voice which calls to me,

and speaks my name.

And do I dream again? For now I find

the Phantom of the Opera is there

inside my mind.

Then she heard him. The same him she had never seen in the halls, classes, cafeteria. She was hypnotised as he sang.

Sing once again with me our strange duet,;

my power over you grows stronger yet.

And though you turn from me to glance behind,

the phantom of the opera is there

inside your mind.

The room she had walked into was a theatre, the one that was used for school plays and musicals. On the stage stood the man, who indeed was one year older than herself at most, and he stood facing her at last. She gasped slightly as she noticed that there was a white mask covering half of his face, the other side young and handsome. His dark hair was slicked back. How could she not have noticed him? How could she not know him? Everything about him was incredible. His voice was beautiful and clear, as shocking as the mask he wore. She did not know him, but she knew his song. These words felt almost familiar, like a distant memory she couldn't quite grasp, but once again they arose:

Your spirit and my voice in one combined;

the Phantom of the Opera is there

inside my mind.

Like magnets they were pulled towards each other, an invisible string tied to each of their hearts was drawing them closer. She could see him so clearly now, the colour of his eyes, the dark shade of his eyelashes.

And in this labyrinth where night is blind,

the Phantom of the Opera is here

inside your mind.

Sing, my angel of music!

And with that the song ended. She had never sung like that before, with such passion. She did not know it yet, but there was so much more to be sung, so much more to learn. He would soon spend hours of their spare time teaching her. But now, in this brief moment of time, one where the future remained far away, she did not think about what was to come. Christine felt like she was in a movie. The world around her seemed to slow down and her heartbeat was loud in her ears. Her surroundings had blurred together. He was right in front of her now. . .

Current time period . . .

Surrounding him were candles, all burned out, or possibly simply left unlit. The atmosphere was mysterious, but she felt calm.

"Christine," he said, "You're back so soon."

Of course she was, how could she resist? He could draw her in with a single note, with only his smile. His sweet, shy, warm smile.

"You got the lead in the musical." He continued. She paused for a second, thinking it was a question, but quickly realising that it was a statement. Somehow he knew, he had heard about her, maybe even seen her. How often did he inquire in her life outside of singing lessons? Her heart pounded heavily, but she did not know why. She approached him slowly, her attention on him and nothing else. She chewed her lip as curiosity swept over her. She appreciated the attention, but why her? Why spend so many precious hours teaching her to turn her voice into an instrument?

And what was he hiding behind his mask?

She scolded herself. It was very clearly private, involving his knowledge only. He had not attempted to tell her, nor invite her to ask.

The Phantom, as she had begun to refer to him, offered his hand and led her to the stage. Together they made their way up the stairs and sat on the aged, worn down surface. With only a wave of his hand, the candles, the ones he had so intricately displayed, lit themselves, the tiny flames appearing from nowhere.

"How did you-" Christine started to say, her eyebrows lifting in surprise.

"Anything is possible," the Phantom said, "with us."

A harsh blush crept up her neck and cheeks.

What did he mean by that? she wondered. What about us? With our lessons, or something more?

Did did not dare voice her wonders aloud. Once again her curiosity was gnawing at her, an urge to know. Her hand started to reach for his face, but the Phantom didn't seem to be wary of it. He seemed to intemperate it as a tender gesture. He did not realise her true intentions until it was to late. She had removed his mask.

He flew back from her, turning away and covering his secret. All of his gentleness had fled, his soft voice. Even the candles had gone out for no knowledgeable reason.

"Damn you! You little prying Pandora!" He spit, every beautiful thing he had ever said and sung was only like a faint dream now. "Is this what you wanted to see? Curse you! You little viper! Damn you! How could you?"

Oh, how the words stung! How true they were! She had torn his dignity for something she hardly cared for, taking away his sense of security, of which he only had with few people, such as her. Christine felt tears prick her eyes. She deserved to be hurt by him. Her breath had left her lungs and she could not force herself to speak. How dark she betray him?

Her eyes followed him as he sulked to the shadows made by the heavy curtains of the stage, and he made no reach for his fallen, ghostly mask. He spoke once more.

"Stranger than you dreamt it . . . can you even bear to look?"

A pause occurred as Christine realised he was crying.

"This lonesome gargoyle who burns in hell but secretly yearns for heaven, secretly . . ." his voice carried away, his body disappearing into the shadows. From the darkness a final whisper arose:

"I loved you."

The Phantom remained in her mind day and night. The pain that had been brought on by her own hand. She had never meant to hurt him, but she had become selfish in her want for knowledge. Had she really made him believe she loved him? Of course, she had always treated him as so. She had unfairly taken his heart in her hands and torn it to pieces, as if it were paper. Paper and not his life, his love, him. She felt nauseous at the thought. She no longer wondered what of he looked like, though she had not seen him. Instead of seeing his face she caught a glimpse of hatred. If was for her or the world, she did not know.

The halls were no longer full of beautiful organ melodies, but crowded by students and teachers alike. She could not even clear he mind when she was with Raoul. She barely noticed when he took her hand in the halls. She had almost forgotten, in the past few months, they were dating.

Almost as an act of vengeance, the universe made her think of one lyric:

The Phantom of the Opera is there

inside my mind

How true it had become. What a terrible joke! How foolish of her to make him believe that she had feelings for him, how cruel. Did she share feelings for him? Could she love Raoul and the Phantom at that same time? She was so young, how could she ever know? Christine's mind had become a flurry of thoughts, enough to make her head ache.

That night, she cried herself to sleep, her own heart weeping for the Phantom.

Madame Giry was very upset with her today, which was a considerably a big deal, since she normally adored her.

Christine was struggling with hitting the notes she needed for a big solo piece in the musical. She never had struggled like this before, and her teacher kept snapping at her to fix it, and acting stricter than usual.

"May I please have a break?" she asked after singing the song poorly for the sixth time.

"Will you sing it correctly when you come back?" her teacher asked, irritation in her voice. Christine nodded.

She walked to the side of the classroom and sat down. Her feet ached from standing so long and her throat had begun to feel scratchy. Deciding to be productive, she pulled out the sheet music and started re-reading it. There just seemed really only one part that she could not get past.

Recall those days, look back on all those times

Think of the things we'll never do

There will never be a day

When I won't think of you

Part of her wished she could forget him, but admittedly, she couldn't. Maybe she didn't know it herself, but she loved him, at least part of her did. If only her Phantom knew. . .

Similar to clockwork, like she had been given a stage direction, she looked up, straight ahead. There he was. Her Phantom, hidden in the corner of the room not to be seen by anyone but her. Tears had sprung up to her eyes again, for reasons she did not know. He had his mask back on. Was he here to confront her or forgive her? Or was he simply going to watch her like he had when she first noticed him?

Madame Giry called her back to sing the song once again. He locked eyes with here. He looked so sad, so hurt. She understood why it had hurt him. Teenagers and children were mean. What ever he was hiding he hid it for a reason. There was no doubt he expected her to be the same.

She had to repay him. Silently, without a word, she dedicated this performance, though small, to him.

Think of me, think of me fondly

when we've said goodbye. . .

The next day turned out to be a nightmare. Somehow there were pictures, all pictures of him, plastered to the walls of the high school, no mask to cover what horrors that lay beneath it. How? If no one had ever seen him with out the mask recently, why were their pictures now? Or had someone harboured them and been waiting to torment him? The picture was blurry, and looked like it had been taken by a very poor camera.

The school security camera! Someone had saved the photo, printed it and covered the walls with his torment.

Christine ran down the halls, not caring about the students who complained, tearing each and every photo down. She felt like she was filled with heat, shame, anger, sadness running through her veins all at once. She was trying to ignore the picture, it wasn't her business-

No. No, she was wrong the picture had become her business when her eyes grazed over the caption.

Erik "The Phantom of the School"

Tears spilled from her eyes. I'm sorry, Phantom. . .