A/N

All characters belong to J.K. Rowling

All ideas and excerpts belong to Andrew Lloyd Weber and Gaston Leroux

Hello~! This is my first work on this site so I hope you enjooyyyy~~~! :3

Unbetated

Edit: I tried to make it so that you didn't have to be totally familiar with the Phantom of the Opera Universe in order to understand it and picture the setting

Paris, 1911

A thick layer of dust covered the dull, golden statues of naked women being captured by demonic men which framed the sides of the stage of the once glorious opera house; even the angel statues that framed the upper area of the stage lacked luster. The dust spread across the whole stage and into the seats of the audience. Dust engulfed the entire, crumbling Paris Opera House.

Not a soul had stepped foot in that decrepit building in years, save for wandering homeless seeking shelter— however even those were few. Most avoided the ancient house in fear of what used to lurk there and thought that perhaps it still did.

But now, people gathered around on the stage, disturbing the dust layer and sending bits of it flying into the air. Large sheets of canvas with different lot numbers covered various items on the stage, the largest being lot 666.

A woman with what was once fiery red hair now dulled through the years of aging and greying, sat in a wheelchair on the stage with her kind nurse behind her. She stared up at the figure behind the podium who spouted out various prices for the lots being auctioned off.

The gavel, slammed down with a loud crack signaling that another item from the vaults of the old opera house had been sold.

"Sold. Your number sir? Thank you." The auctioneer moved on to the the next item. "Lot 663, then, ladies and gentlemen: a poster for this house's production of "Hannibal" by Chalumeau." Another man strode onto the stage from the right wing, a long roll of paper under his arm.

"Showing here." The man whipped the poster out of its tight roll creating a loud crack causing some of the buyers to jump.

"Do I have ten francs?" The auctioneer looked around the room, but saw no one raising his or her numbers. "Five then. Five I am bid." Several others raised their numbers. "Six, seven. Against you, sir, seven. Eight. Eight once. Selling twice. Sold, to Ginny, Viscountess de Weasley." The man rolled up the poster a disappeared once more into the wings.

Another man came out from the wings holding another item which sold for fifteen francs. It had been a pistol and three human skulls from one of the opera house's previous productions.

The next lot was announced by the auctioneer, "Lot 665, ladies and gentlemen: a papier-mache musical box, in the shape of a barrel-organ." The porter emerged from the wing carrying the music box. "Attached, the figure of a snake in Persian robes playing a rattle. This item, discovered in the vaults of the theatre, still in working order." The man holding the music box held it out turned to his left and right, showing it to the bidders.

"Showing here." The man turned the large crank that stuck out of the box a couple of times, winding up the music box. A joyful tune echoed throughout the opera house, the first and last bit of music in years that the grand stage would hear.

"May I start at twenty francs?" The auctioneer glanced around his audience of bidders. No one moved. "Come, come now ladies and gentlemen— fifteen, then?"

Ginny tapped her nurse's hand on her on her shoulder causing her bidding number to go up.

"Fifteen I am bid."

Several others began raising their own bidding numbers and eventually someone shouted out, "Twenty five!" However, the nurse raised the bidding number once more.

"Going for thirty francs then… thirty once. Thirty twice." The auctioneer paused before loudly declaring, "Sold, for thirty francs to the Viscountess de Weasley!" He turned to the women in the wheelchair and nodded. "Thank you very much, madame."

Ginny waved the man holding the music box over to herself so that she could finally hold the thing that her beloved had often described to her with a distant gaze and smile on his face. She traced her fingertips over the snake's carved scales and the gold trim of the box it sat on. She held the box as if it were a delicate baby in her arms, and stared into the beady, yellow eyes of the serpent.

"Wonderful, aren't you…" she whispered. "He described you perfectly…" She stroked the velvet pillow the snake sat, coiled on. "Always going on about your velvet lining and your figurine of lead…" Looking back up, her attention returned to the auction but a thought still lingered in her head.

Will you still play, when all the rest of us are dead?

"Lot 666, then, ladies and gentlemen," The auctioneer announced. The crowd's eyes all narrowed in on the large piece of canvas that hid the item.

"A chandelier in pieces." He paused, taking in the crowd's reactions. "Some of you may recall the terror named Voldemort: a mystery never fully explained…" A few of the older people nodded, their gaze a bit glazed as they remembered the past.

"We are told ladies and gentlemen, that this is the very chandelier which figures in the famous disaster. Our workshops have restored it and fitted up parts of it with wiring for the new electric light, so that we may get a hint of what it may look like when re-assembled." The auctioneer paused as the soft pattering of clapping filled the opera house one last time.

"Perhaps we may frighten away the ghost of so many years ago with a little illumination— gentlemen?"

An enormous, bright flash of light surrounded the chandelier and engulfed the entire stage in white. Color began to return to the furniture, stage, ceiling, and walls as the opera house returned to its original magnificent state of so many years ago. The cobwebs were swept away and the luster of the statutes, metal, and crystal was restored.

The tremendous chandelier full of glistening, twinkling crystals gradually rose high above the stalls, taking its rightful place in the middle of the room to display its splendor once more.

Paris, 1881

A young man with slicked back, platinum blonde hair strode out onto the stage while carrying what appeared to be a severed head. He wore an intricate and detailed costume that had a small chestplate with carvings and designs, a helmet adorned with colorful feathers, and a small dagger attached to his large belt that had a design made out of rubies on the buckle. The whole outfit had a red, green and yellow/gold theme to it with a few smatterings of brown and darker colors. It kind of looked like a rug.

The young man stopped walking once he reached the middle of the stage and fixed his grey eyes on the head in his hands. He took in a deep breath before he belted out an impressively high note and continued singing in a very high range.

"From the enslaving force of Rome!" The last note rang out in the opera house, and immediately after he cut off the note, the orchestra sprang to life along with the chorus members and dancers who flooded onto the stage. A group of ballerinas, male and female mixed together wearing red, green, yellow/gold costumes, scurried onto the stage. They appeared to be the chorus 'slaves' since another dancer came out with a whip and whipped the ground causing them to disperse and dance. The female dancers wore a corset-like top with a gold belt decorated with jewels that had strings hanging from it to provide a little coverage for their tight clad legs. The males on the other hand, including the 'slave master', wore a red, green, yellow/gold skirt and no shirt.

Everyone began to bow as the line, "Hear the drums! Elissa comes!" was sung and a lady emerged on stage wearing a very elaborate, long, flaring, skirt and the same corset-top as the ballerinas. She had a pug like face and appeared to have quite a superiority complex.

The strings gave her the cue to start singing.

"Sad to return to find the land we love, threatened once more by Roma's far-reaching grasp."

"No, no, no, no! Signora," a man carrying a large booklet stormed onto the stage. "If you please. Rome. We say Rome, not Rom-a!"

Everyone rolled their eyes and broke out of their somewhat uncomfortable positions they had frozen in. They chatted with one another and some stretched a bit.

"Rome? Rome is-a very hard for me—"

"Well, once again, from 'sad return', just try to get it right," the man said, clearly frustrated, cutting of the primadonna's defense about being from 'Italia'.

"From the-a top? Rome," the singer said, testing the word. However, before the rehearsal could continue, three men dressed in suits wandered onto the stage, the two lagging behind bumping into a few people.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," Rehearsals, as you can see, are under way, for a new production of Chalumeau's 'Hannibal'" A man carrying a fashionable walking stick and dressed in a hat and cloak said while waving his hands around himself. Clapping his hands, he called the attention of the room to himself and his two companions. "Ladies and gentlemen, some of you might have already met Monsieur Dippet and Monsieur Dumbledore—"

"I'm sorry Monsieur Fudge! We are rehearsing, if you wouldn't mind waiting a moment," the man with the booklet who had long greasy looking, black hair snapped as he sent a cold glare toward the three intruding men.

"My apologies Monsieur Snape, proceed," Fudge apologized, his voice holding a bit of a scared waver. He turned to his two companions and whispered, "Monsieur Snap, our chief repetitor, a bit of a tyrant, I'm afraid."

"From 'sad return'! Signora!" Snape barked, causing everyone to scramble into their places while the orchestra began to play again.

"Sad to return to find the land we love, threatened once more by," The soprano paused before over-emphasizing the word 'Rome's' and then proceeded in singing the rest of her lines. "Far-reaching grasp. Tomorrow we shall break the chains of Rome. Tonight rejoice! your army ha-ha-has," she plugged one of her ears, trying to hit the right note for 'has'. "Come home!"

Once she stopped the singing, the volume of the orchestra rose as the dancers took the stage.

"Signora Pansy Parkison our Principal soprano," Fudge commented, pointing at the departing singer. "She does it quite well." The three men slowly drifted out from the wings as Fudge pointed out different equipment and parts on the stage.

A loud bang of a staff against the ground drew the men's attentions to an exasperated woman wearing a long, plain black dress with a small, skinny feather poking out of her tight, grey bun. "Gentlemen please if you would kindly stand to one side."

"My apologies Madame McGonagall," Fudge apologized, his speech a bit jittery. He led the two others to the side once again. "Madame McGonagall, our ballet instructor. I don't mind confessing, Monsieur Dippet, I shan't be sorry to be rid of the whole blessed business."

"I keep asking you, Monsieur, why exactly are you retiring?" Dippet questioned, however, Fudge ignored him.

"We take a particular pride here in the excellence of our ballets," Fudge said, drawing the men's gazes and minds to the dancers.

"Who's that girl, Fudge?" Dumbledore asked pointing at a girl with bushy brown hair.

"Her?" Fudge searched through the crowd of dancers with his eyes, finally finding the girl who Dumbledore pointed out. "Hermione Granger, one of our best dancers actually. Promising dancer, Monsieur Dumbledore, most promising."

One of the male dancers with inky black hair and intense green eyes seemed to fall out of step with the others his gaze distant. The blonde singer from before sneered as the dancer with black hair almost fell on top of him.

"Watch it Potter," the singer hissed, snapping the absentminded dancer out of his trance, but before he could get back into step, the hawk eyes of Madame McGonagall spotted him.

"You! Harry Potter! Concentrate, boy!" She slammed her staff against the ground again. Harry blushed and fumbled while trying to get back into step with the others.

"Harry are you okay?" Hermione whispered to him while continuing to dance.

"It's nothing… don't worry about it," Harry managed to respond before the choreography for the dance pulled the two of them apart again.

"Potter? Curious name." Dippit watched the boy as he fumbled through the rest of the dance, not quite able to get back into the swing of it.

"English." Fudge commented.

"Any relation to the violinist and piano couple?" Dumbledore asked his eyes landed on the boy.

"Their son, I believe." Fudge sighed. "Always had his head in the clouds though, I'm afraid."

The rehearsal came to a close as the chorus dominated the stage once more and a life sized figure of an elephant was wheeled out of the wings. The ending was anything but perfect—the blonde singer failing to climb onto the elephant in time, and a group of the dancers bursting out into laughter only to be reprimanded by McGonagall— Snape shook his head, sighing in defeat.

Monsieur Fudge clapped his hands trying to draw the crowd's attention to himself. "Ladies and gentlemen! May I have your attention please?" His meek voice was drowned out by the chatter of everyone else. "Madame McGonagall—"

The loud crack of the staff hitting the ground quieted everyone.

"Thank you." Fudge nodded his head toward McGonagall. "As you know, for some weeks there have been rumors of my imminent re-tirement." People began to whisper in the crowd but Fudge continued to speak. "I can now tell you that these were all true and it is my pleasure to introduce to you the two gentlemen who now own the Opéra Populaire, Monsieur Armando Dippet." He motioned to a man with very white hair, a short beard, and wore pince-nez on the tip of his nose. "And Monsieur Albus Dumbledore." Fudge then motioned to a man with a long, cascading grey beard and long grey locks (he also wore the most eccentric clothing: lilac and gold striped suit with a bright pink tie that had small images of planets and star sewn into it).

The crowd politely applauded and then returned to their own conversations. A particular blonde haired male glided his way over to the three men, a charming smile plastered on his face. A few dancers and singers group together glanced over at the exchange about to take place, exchanging whispers with each other.

"Gentlemen, may I introduce Signor Draco Malfoy, our leading tenor for five season now," Fudge said, puffing his chest proudly. The divo shook hands with the new owners, charming smile still in place.

"Of course! My young boy I have seen all of your greatest roles," Dumbledore smiled a twinkle in his eyes. The soprano from before waltzed over to the group also smiling.

"And let's not forget Signora Pansy Parkinson."

The two new owners bowed and kissed her offered hand.

"An honor, Signora." Dippet said voice full of admiration.

The small group of dancers and singers, who had been eavesdropping, included the raven haired male and bushy haired girl from before.

"Look at how fake he looks," an asian girl laughed, pointing at the blonde. "Really trying to please the new owners." She stood in a b-plus position naturally, eyeing the Draco suspiciously.

"Well that's Draco for you, Cho," Harry slung his arm around the asian girl's shoulders. "All of that ambition he has."

"Gross Harry!" Cho pushed his arm off causing the boy to laugh. "You're covered in sweat!"

"Well, I think we all are," a shy looking boy with shaggy brown hair spoke up. Harry rolled his eyes at the boy's comment.

"Yeah, everyone except our singing buddies Neville." He elbowed a handsome boy with neatly combed light brown hair who was taller than him (but everyone was usually taller than Harry) in the ribs.

"Oi," Cedric rubbed his stomach, feigning pain. "I don't think I'll ever recover!" He dramatically fell to the floor at the feet of the small huddle they had formed.

"Oh don't be such a drama queen Cedric," Hermione playfully scolded, watching as Cedric sat up and remained on the floor. "Singing is actually quite hard," she turned to Harry addressing him.

"I know, I know 'Mione," Harry conceded.

"Oh look at that, now he's going to sing," Cho said, calling the others attention to the divo standing with the new owners.

"Get ready to plug your ears," Cedric muttered, earning a few chuckles from some of his peers.

"You should also prepare Harry," a girl with long, wavy, blonde hair and a dreamy look on her face said with an airy voice. Harry's brow furrowed, but before he could ask her a question, someone began to play the piano, quieting everyone in the opera house.

Draco snatched the long scarf from one of the props people and got into his starting stance. Clearing his throat, he let out his well trained, operatic voice. It could almost be mistaken for an angel. Almost. He put too much drama into his singing and acting that it didn't come across as something natural. His cockiness and flamboyance also could be observed in his performance.

"Oh, he's going all out," Cedric said amused.

The next phrase started to play causing Draco to increase the amount of unnecessary drama in his performance.

"You could say that again," Harry scoffed. "It's hilarious how—"

One of the backgrounds unfurled with a loud boom as it hit the ground. Screams filled the stage. Everyone raced past each other, knocking each other over and shoving each other out of the way. The whole troupe descended into panic and chaos.

"It's him," the blonde girl, the only one completely calm and still, said, looking at Harry. Their little circle of friends was being slowly dismantled and swept away by the crowd, but Harry caught her unnerving, grey stare.

"Who! Luna!" Harry shouted over the uproar of the crowd as he was pushed farther away from his friend. He saw her lips move but couldn't hear her over the crowd. He didn't need to hear though since he could read her lips. That single word sent chills down Harry's spine.

Voldemort.

A/N

So how was it? I hope you liked it! Sorry if it was a bit boring, this chapter was just building everything and getting the setting down. I will be posting every month or so because I have school. Ugh. Anyway, Thank you so much for reading! :3 3