Disclaimer: I own nothing. All PotO characters belong to Gaston Leroux, and Andrew Lloyd Webber… although this fic is a mix of the musical/movie, not the book. Enjoy!

Chapter 1

Little blond angel! Huh! I suppose I should feel grateful, but maybe that remark would've been a bit more complimentary when I was five! Meg Giry's thoughts were full of resentment, but on the outside she was calm and cool, twirling and leaping in time with the other dancers, her body simply an instrument used to portray the ballet.

She glanced at her best friend, Christine Daae. She should be happy; they called her an 'exceptional beauty'. Although she loved her friend dearly, she could get on Meg's nerves, and Meg wasn't immune to being jealous of the lovely Christine. An orphan, Madame Giry took her under her wing and raised her as her own, and Meg had grown to think of her as a sister. Although, sometimes Meg felt that her mother paid more attention to Christine than to her.

Or maybe I'm just being horrible.

There were two levels in her mind: on one level, the dance. All Meg needed to dance was the music; she didn't need to memorize steps. To her, there were no steps. Ballet was an art, a beauty in which your body became one with the music, one with the ballet, one with the emotions captured. On the second level was reality, the people all around her, the conversations and such. She struck the final pose as the music rose and died down, staring out into the empty audience before unfreezing and leaping to her feet.

She went over to Christine, who had been very daydreamy lately, as if her head was always in the clouds. "Christine? Christine, are you all right?"

"Oh!" She turned and looked at Meg as if seeing her for the first time. "Yes, I'm fine." Christine looked round at all the dancers and singers. "They're quite good."

"You mean we're quite good," Meg corrected. "You and I are a part of Hannibal too."

Christine smiled. "Yes, of course."

Meg smiled knowingly. "Are you looking for the Vicomte? He left, you know."

Christine blushed. "He didn't recognize me."

"He didn't see you," Meg answered gently.

The Vicomte, Raoul, was a childhood friend and sweetheart of Christine's. Meg was sure he would have recognized her, if he had seen her.

They chattered amongst themselves, and Meg was dimly aware of Carlotta's screechy voice, full of protest, and the managers seemingly pleading with her, until Carlotta, the lead singer in every opera, began to sing, her voice piercing the dull murmur or voices.

"Eugh." Meg made a face. "Honestly, I must be tone-deaf, because I don't see what all the fuss is about." Christine gave a little shrug, which Meg took to be a silent agreement.

"Remember me,
Once in a while, please promise me
Yo-o-ou'll try….
When you find, that once again you long
To take your heart back…"

As Carlotta sang, a heavy backdrop fell almost silently upon her. The other dancers screamed a second before the backdrop hit the floor, taking a screeching Carlotta down with it. Meg bit back a laugh and turned it into a gasp of horror. Immediately her eyes shot upwards, scanning the darkened catwalks above the stage.

"He's here," she whispered to Christine excitedly. "The Phantom of the Opera!" She didn't notice Christine's eyes, which were filled with fear and wonder.

"Signora, are you all right?" Monsieur Lefevre, the now-old owner of the Opera Populaire, Andre, and Firmin, the new owners, rushed over. Carlotta clambered to her feet, hysterical.

"What's going on up there?" Lefevre shouted angrily, looking upwards. "Buquet! Where's Joseph Buquet! Get down here, man!"

The dishevelled face of Joseph Buquet appeared over the edge of a catwalk. "Please, monsieur, don't look at me!" he said. "As God as my witness I wasn't at my post! Please, monsieur, there's no one here… and if there is, well then, he must be a ghost."

That set the dancers off into another chorus of shrill screams. Meg winced.

"Please, Signora… these-these things do happen…" Andre said, weakly.

Carlotta drew herself up. Meg grinned and whispered in Christine's ear, "This should be good."

"Si! These things do happen! For the past three years, these 'things' do happen! Ma no! Until you stop these things from happening, this thing does not happen! Andiamo! Bring me doggy and my boxy!" She stalked off angrily, followed closely by her partner, Piangi.

There was a silence. "Well, I don't think there's much more I can do to assist you, gentlemen. If you need me, I shall be in Australia." Lefevre bowed, and walked offstage.

Andre and Firmin stared at each other in silence. "Carlotta… will be back?"

Monsieur Reyer, the maestro, rolled his eyes and put a hand to his forehead.

"She'll be back." Andre spoke with more conviction this time, but Meg knew she wouldn't be. Carlotta was a huge drama queen, and when she wanted to make a point, she made her point. Meg wasn't exactly sorry to see her go, if only for a little while, the woman had never been nice to her, calling her a 'ballet rat'.

"You think so, monsieurs?" Madame Giry stepped forward, holding a while envelope. "I have a message, sir, from the Opera Ghost." Meg felt Christine tense beside her.

Andre and Firmin rolled their eyes. "Good God in heaven, you're all obsessed!"

Madame Giry gave them a look before continuing. "He merely welcomes you to his opera house and commands you to continue to leave Box Five empty for his use and reminds you that his salary is due."

"His salary?!" Andre and Firmin looked shocked.

"Monsieur Lefevre paid him twenty thousand francs a month. Perhaps you can afford more,
with the Vicomte de Chagny as your patron," she said, raising her eyebrows.

Andre huffed with indignation. "I had hoped to make that public tonight, Madame, but it seems we will have to cancel because we have lost our star!"

"Christine Daae could sing it."

Meg and Christine spun around to face Madame Giry in shock. What? What? You're my mother; you're supposed to… to stick up for me, or whatever! Say I can sing it, even though I'm not very good! Not Christine! Me, your daughter! Meg wasn't sure if she was justified or not in her thoughts, but she didn't care.

"A chorus girl?" Andre glanced at her dismissively. "Don't be silly."

But Madame Giry pressed on. "Let her sing for you, monsieurs. She has been taking lessons from a great teacher."

"What's his name?"

"I-I don't know, sirs," Christine said quietly.

Andre and Firmin sighed. "Very well. From the beginning of the aria, mademoiselle."

Christine stepped forward, nudged encouragingly by Meg. She was burning with jealousy, but she couldn't let that stop her from being a good friend.

Christine cast a nervous glance back at her, and Meg smiled. She gave a small smile back and turned to face the empty audience.

"Think of me,
Think of me fondly
When we've said goodbye…
Remember me, once in a while, please promise me
You'll try…
When you find, that once again you long, to take your heart back
And be free –"

x

Meg watched Christine, jealousy and happiness for her friend mixing, creating an unpleasant burning in her stomach. Her voice is good, she thought reluctantly. Now it will be all about Christine… and I'll be pushed even further away, even more of a little ballerina rat than before. She felt guilty at her selfishness, but why did she have to be so considerate all the time? Was it so wrong to want fame and attention, for once?

Meg waited offstage for Christine, tapping her foot impatiently. Christine had performed perfectly tonight, she had to admit. She was glowing, a true angel… sigh.

She had tried to congratulate her, but a rush of people had surged forward first, which forced her back, everyone ignoring the little blond girl, looking even littler in her white ballerina costume and white hair ribbon. Now, Christine had seemingly disappeared. Meg sighed. Oh, Christine.

She wove her way through the throng of people, who drinking and laughing merrily. Andre and Firmin looked especially merry. No one paid any attention to her, but she didn't expect any. She just wanted to find her friend.

Meg entered a narrow passageway, walking past two people embracing so closely, they seemed glued together. She climbed a small set of stairs and opened a little door, leading to the small chapel. Christine sat on the floor, lighting a candle for her father, her dress all around her.

"Christine… Christine." Meg smiled down at her. "Where in the world have you been hiding?" She sat down beside her. "You were perfect, you know." Christine blushed and looked down, smiling. "I only wish I knew your secret…" she sighed longingly. "Who is your great tutor?"

Christine looked at her for a moment, and then her eyes rested on the picture of her father. "Father once spoke of an angel… an angel of music. He promised me, Meg, when he was in heaven, he'd send me the angel of music. And he has, Meg." She smiled widely.

"As I sing, Meg, I can sense him… and now, now I know he's here. He calls me… somewhere inside, hiding." Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright. Meg felt herself become drawn into Christine's wonder, yet jealousy stirred. An angel of music?

"Christine… you must have been dreaming," Meg told her, although she didn't sound very sure of herself. "Stories like this, they can't come true. Christine, you're talking in riddles… and it's not like you."

"He's with me even now…" Christine grasped her hands and Meg gasped.

"Your hands are so cold…"

"All around me…"

"Your face, Christine, its white!"

"It frightens me…"

"Don't be frightened." Meg hugged her comfortingly. "It's just a dream, Christine, just a dream. Come on, let's go back to your room. I'll bet you have a thousand flowers waiting for you." She grinned, and Christine gave her a small smile.

They took a back way; where there would be less people, but as soon as they got close to her room people began to mob them, thrusting flowers at Christine and congratulating her, their voices one. Meg kept an iron grip on Christine's arm, as people tried to push her away. "Leave her alone… no… come on, now, stop!" Meg snapped, but it was useless. No one would listen.

Suddenly, Madame Giry appeared. "No," she snapped icily at the crowd, and managed to open the door and pull Christine inside. Meg moved to follow her in, but her mother stopped her. "Meg Giry, are you not a dancer?" Meg flushed under her mother's gaze. "Yes."

"Then go, rehearse." She shut the door.

Meg's eyes filled with tears of anger. She spun around and raced blindly through the crowd, not stopping to apologize when she bumped into someone. She didn't stop until she reached the ballet dormitories, where all the others dancers were.

"Meg!" They all swivelled their heads in attention when she entered. "Did you see Christine?"

Meg stifled a sigh. "Yes. She was in the chapel, praying."

"She was perfect!" a red-headed girl named Marie sighed wistfully. "I wish I could sing like that, she sounded like an angel!"

"Yes," Meg agreed. "There were many well-wishers outside her door."

She let her mind wander as the girls chattered excitedly about how well Christine had done, how she was probably the next big star, and wouldn't Carlotta be angry?

"Are you happy for Christine, little Meg?" asked a tall, black-haired girl named Emilie. Her voice was dripping with sarcasm.

"Yes, I am," she said calmly. "Why wouldn't I be? She's my best friend."

"Oh, I don't know. I just thought you might be jealous. Now Christine's not a little nothing dancer like you and I, she's a star. Her name will be on everyone's minds and lips. But if you're happy for her, well, bravo."

Meg glared at her. "I'm not a salope like you, Emilie," she snapped, using the French word for the derogatory term. The girls gasped, covering their mouths to hide their smiles. No one liked Emilie very much. "I'm going to bed." Meg climbed the winding stairs and climbed into her small bed, staring at the ceiling. Emilie's right. Christine will be a star now, a somebody. She sighed. She wished she were a good person, like Christine. If it were Meg who had sang, Christine probably wouldn't be the least bit jealous. You can't hate someone like that, but oh, sometimes I wish I could.

Meg must have dozed off, because the next thing she knew she was waking with a start, looking around the low-ceilinged room in confusion. What woke me up? She listened carefully, but didn't hear a sound. The room was dark, but she could make out the shapes of the other girls in their beds.

For some reason, she felt the urge to move. She slipped stealthily out of bed and tiptoed down the stairs, feeling full of burning excitement. It was a thrill to be out of bed when you were supposed to be in it.

She decided to visit Christine. Guilt ate at her because of her thoughts, and she wanted to let her know she would support her no matter what. She slipped out of the dormitories and moved as soundlessly as a ghost down the hallways. Ghosts… how frightening.

Meg was close to Christine's room when she heard two people arguing in whispers. She peered around a corner and saw her mother, holding a candle, and the Vicomte. He looked angry. "Where is she?" he hissed angrily. "I only left for two minutes, and when I got back, I heard a voice in there with her! Who was it? Where did they take her?"

Take who? Meg wondered.

"Monsieur, I'm sorry, but I do not know. If the door was locked, then I'm sure Miss Daae cannot be far. Perhaps you were just hearing things, and she left?"

The Vicomte stared at her wordlessly, and then snorted. "Where did she go, then? And why is she not back?" He shook his head. "If you will not help me, Madame, then I will look myself." He stalked away, swallowed up by the darkness.

Meg knew her mother was lying. She could see it in her eyes, lit by the flame. She stood still for a moment, then walked away, also consumed by the darkness.

"Ohmygod," Meg whispered to herself. "Christine is missing?! What could have happened?" Her curiosity was ignited now. She had to go to Christine's room, see if she could find anything. She waited to make sure no one else appeared, and raced lightly down the hall. When she came to Christine's door she tightened her hand around the cool knob, remembering that her mother had said the door was locked. No harm in trying.

She turned the knob and pushed, to her surprise it opened, and she stumbled into the room, clutching the doorknob for support. "Oh!"

The room was dark and silent, eerily so. Meg crept inside and shut the door quietly behind her. Her eyes scanned the room, but she didn't see anywhere that Christine could have disappeared to… no secret passages… wait a minute!

Meg's eyes rested on a rose, lying on the floor in front of a full-length mirror. She bent down and picked it up gently, a warm thrill running down her spine. She looked up at the mirror, and noticed it was open a tiny bit, barely noticeable. Open? What's behind it? This is probably where Christine went! Her fingers curved around the mirror's edge and she tugged. It slid open slowly, revealing a long, semi-dark tunnel.

"Wow," Meg breathed, feeling a rush of exhilaration. She stepped into the tunnel, and half-closed the mirror behind her. "That's strange," she muttered. "Whoever was back here could see Christine, but she couldn't see them…"

Cautiously, she walked down the tunnel. Not only was it dark, but it was damp, too. Water dripped, although she couldn't see it, only hear it. She had to be careful to avoid little puddles of water, and the occasional rat scampered across her path. She didn't really mind, she had always had a soft spot for all animals. When she reached the end of the tunnel, she was surprised that it merely led to a set of swirling, descending stone stairs. "Wow…"

Suddenly, there was a hand on her shoulder, fingers digging into her skin harshly.

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