Author's note: 1) This is the sequal to my story "The heir". Although it is possible to read it without having read "The heir" first, I do not recommend it. It's much more enjoyable with a little background knowledge.

2) As already stated in "The heir", hope is the most cruel of human emotions. It causes our best actions... and our most desperate ones. Join me in the whirlwind of emotions that will make this story extraordinary. Watch Christine, Erik and Raoul in their struggle to create and destroy hope for each other and themselves. Watch them try to find a new life or else get back the old one. And never forget the children, who are as extraordinary as their parents.

Dedication: I dedicate this chapter to my own personal Gilles, who has been my faithful companion for the last fifteen years, and to all the other cuddly animals out there. Thanks for never letting us down.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters from "The Phantom of the Opera". They belong to Gaston Leroux / Andrew Lloyd Webber.

Hope springs eternally

Chapter One

November 5th 1895: Philippe

I stared at the parcel with my mouth hanging slightly open, hardly daring to believe my eyes. Such a big parcel, all for me!

"Where does it come from?" I asked Marie, who had just put it down in front of the door to my room.

"A delivery boy brought it a few minutes ago, together with a parcel for your sister and a bouquet of flowers for your mother," the maid explained, smiling down at me. "Such beautiful flowers in November! They must have cost your father a fortune. A lovely man, really…"

She turned around and walked down the corridor, still muttering about Papa. It was funny: All the servants liked him, even though most of them hardly knew him. He only came here every few weeks to talk to Maman, and he never stayed long. At least once a week, however, he sent a coach to fetch Antoinette and me, and then we did nice things together. He also gave us many presents, even if it wasn't our birthday or Christmas. But then, the servants didn't get any presents from him or did nice things with him, so I couldn't understand why they liked him so much. They couldn't know what a wonderful Papa he was.

This parcel was larger than most he had given me, so it probably didn't contain the usual books. Papa knew how much I liked reading because I had told him myself. I had also read to him many times, and he said that he was very proud of me. Yet even though the parcel was so big that twenty books would have fitted into it, it wasn't very heavy. I could pick it up from the floor and carry it to the table without problems.

I looked at the parcel excitedly and was on the verge of ripping open the brown paper covering it when I remembered something Uncle Erik had taught me. He had always said that it was important to ´respect things´. I wasn't sure what he meant by it, but it had something to do with not ripping open presents and not letting books lie on the floor.

It was strange that Uncle Erik was still here somehow, even though he had not been here in person for a long time. Three of my birthdays had passed without him, though he had sent large parcels with curious objects from all over the world. I only wished he'd come himself instead of sending parcels, no matter how many nice things were in them.

Suddenly I felt very miserable. I missed Uncle Erik so much. I had new teachers, one who talked and talked about books and maths and one who taught me how to play the piano and read music, but Uncle Erik had been much better. With him, learning had been interesting, not boring. I still liked doing the tasks he set me much better than the ones the teachers gave me.

Going to the opera was what I liked best of all. Maman or Aunt Antoinette usually came with me, but I didn't need much help. I knew how to do things much better than them, because I was the only one Uncle Erik had taught. I knew how to frighten chorus girls and make stagehands work more quickly. It was very amusing to watch…

…but it would have been even more amusing if Uncle Erik had been with me. Even though Maman laughed at my jokes every now and then, I thought I sometimes saw her looking at me in a very strange way. Sometimes I also saw her wipe her eyes with her handkerchief. I knew she missed Uncle Erik as well.

Hoping it would make all the sad thoughts go away, I started opening the parcel at last. I removed the brown ribbon with my scissors, nearly, but only nearly, removing the top of my right thumb with it. Then I peeled away the wrapping paper, revealing a plain brown box. A note was attached to the top.

My darling Philippe, I hope you'll like this present of mine. Perhaps you'll remember it. I was having tea with the Colettes the other day, and gave it to me. You seem to have left it at their house a few weeks before the fire, and she forgot about it. Now she found it on the attic and wanted to give it back to you. Maybe you'll still like it. Don't forget me. Your father, Raoul de Chagny.

A slightly mouldy smell was coming from the box, like the potatoes Larisse fetched from the cellar. My heart was beating quickly. I knew what was in the box. It could only be one thing. Hastily I opened the lid and looked inside. As I caught a glimpse of brown, I knew I had been right.

"Gilles!" I exclaimed, taking him out of the box and pressing him against my chest. Then I held him at arm's length to look at him. "You haven't changed at all," I told him, the way I had often heard Maman and Aunt Meg tell the ladies who came to tea. It was true: Gilles had the same brown fur, the same soft ears and paws and the same kind smile on his face that made him such a wonderful bear. Only his smell had changed a little, but I was sure that after a few nights' sleep in my bed, everything would be all right again.

I waited a few moments for Gilles' reply, then I answered:

"Yes, I know I've changed a lot. I'm eight years old now. That's almost as old as Antoinette was when you last saw her. She's twelve now (I had to tell Gilles because he sometimes had problems with counting.), and she can still be really awful, but she's not at home very often. When she's not at her teacher's house, she's at the opera. She's still too young to be a real dancer, but she's allowed to practice with the youngest girls and watch the others. Now that we're living with Aunt Meg, who's always on Antoinette's side, Maman couldn't have said no. Antoinette simply annoyed her till she agreed."

There was something questioning about Gilles' face, and he gave me a frown.

"Oh!" I made. "Of course! You want to know why we're living here now, don't you? Well, let me tell you."

I took Gilles in my arms, and we settled down on my bed. I had learned from Uncle Erik that good stories were never told in a rush. They needed time to unfold. Of course no one could tell stories as well as Uncle Erik himself, but I doubted Gilles would mind. He had heard a lot of stories from me, stories I had made up myself and stories I had heard from Uncle Erik. He had always listened patiently.

"A few weeks after I left you at the Colettes' house – and I'm very sorry about that – there was a fire at home," I started, shivering slightly. Maman had always said I should talk about the fire whenever I felt like it, but it had been a while since the last time I had done so. Everyone here already knew the story, so there had been no need to tell it. "It was a huge fire. It burned down the whole house. Well, not the whole house. Maman and Papa could go in afterwards and saved a few things. But most of it is gone… all the things from my room as well."

I paused for a while, giving Gilles time to take in the news that so many of his friends were dead. Even after two and a half years, I still felt very sorry for them. The book with stories Uncle Erik had given me had been the only thing I had been able to save myself.

"There were bad men, too, who had set the house on fire," I went on. "But Uncle Erik and Papa fought them, and now they're all locked up in prison. They can't come here. So you don't have to worry."

Gilles gave a sigh of relief.

"I still haven't told you why we're here," I reminded myself. Uncle Erik had also taught me that it was bad to interrupt a story in the middle, so I went on quickly. "Well, Aunt Meg took us in after the fire. Then she told us that she was going to have a baby, and Maman decided to stay here with us and help her. But Papa couldn't stay as well because he had to go on working. So he's living in his own house now."

I sighed as well, though I wasn't relieved at all. I was sad.

"I miss him," I muttered. "Maman and Papa used to say that we'd move back in together once the baby was born, but when Aunt Meg had twins, Maman said we had to stay longer because two babies were too much work for one person, and Aunt Antoinette couldn't help all the time. I think there's something they're not telling me, though. They often talk in whispers. Antoinette doesn't know the secret either, although she usually acts as if she knew everything."

Gilles threw me a sympathetic glance, and I smiled at him. It was so good to have someone who was on my side again.

"And Uncle Erik isn't here either," I went on. "He's travelling around the world. He sends letters every few weeks, and sometimes we can write him as well, but he hasn't come back once, even though he promised. It's so boring here without Papa and him. Everyone is looking at Clarille and Michel all the time… Would you like to see them as well?" I asked, remembering that all the people who came to visit us wanted to see the babies. Why should Gilles be different? Besides, they could be rather sweet, as long as they weren't screaming.

Gilles told me that he wanted to see them if I didn't mind, so we got up from the bed. Yet we hadn't even reached the door when it was opened from outside.

"Maman!" I said cheerfully. "Look who has come back to me!"

I lifted Gilles into the air, but Maman barely looked at him. She beamed down at me, waving a letter.

"It's from your Uncle Erik," she told me excitedly. "He's coming back, Philippe! He's coming back!"