Hello everyone! Miss me? I'm very excited to be back, especially with a story with these characters again. I've been wanting to write fanfiction again, especially with my current adoration for the Vicomte de Chagny and a certain Ballerina.

Please be patient with me, as I am nervous to be starting again. Please bear with me! It may be slow at first as I get everything sorted. But I want everything to go perfectly, since these two mean the world to me. I hope there are at least a few of you rare Raoul and Meg shippers out there that will like this. And maybe I'll convert a few of you! Heehee.

As a disclaimer, I own nothing.

Enjoy!

xoxo

The night is calm. The night is cool.

The tiny village on the shore is silent, aside from the ocean's calming waves. Not a soul is stirring. Everyone is safe in their dreams.

All but one.

Little Marguerite Giry stands on the sand, staring out at the blackness of the ocean. Her lamp rests beside her bare feet, the only light in the night's darkness. Her arms are outstretched, her dark eyes closed tightly. The ocean breeze flops her golden curls and pale nightgown every which way. But she doesn't care.

In this moment, she feels free. Free to do whatever she pleases. The ocean air makes her feel clean, brand new. She assumed the ocean's waves would make her feel the same, but the poor girl couldn't swim to save her life. One day, she knew. She was young. A holiday to the shoreline with her dearest friend and mother should have been more thrilling for her. But at eleven, all Marguerite Giry felt was the constant teasing of the other girls of the town for not venturing out into the cool blue ocean.

A soft sigh escapes her as she finally drops her arms and lowers herself onto a large piece of driftwood. Her mother would kill her if she knew she was out here like this, in the middle of the night. Improper, she'd say. You'll catch your death, she'd scold. A small smile crossed her quivering pink lips at the thought. Only a few more moments and she would return to the cottage. It was close enough. Nothing ever happened in the little village. She was safe.

Marguerite took a deep breath and lifted her lamp as she got to her feet again. She blew the ocean a kiss, then giggled and gracefully made her way back home. Her shawl had slipped past her shoulders and now rested in the creases of her elbows. She hummed softly to herself as she tiptoed through the quiet village.

It surely wasn't safe for a young girl of her age to be wandering around in the dark like this. She should have been snug in her bed, dreaming away the night like the rest of the town. Anyone could be lurking in the shadows watching her. Anything could happen and no one would know. And with Marguerite's petite frame, she certainly couldn't fight any brute off. Still, Meg had faith that the Lord would keep her safe as she traveled the short distance.

And He always did. She made it to the small cottage easily. It was owned by her uncle's family, and they allowed Marguerite and her mother to come visit often. Their home wasn't terribly big, but it was cozy and just right for the young couple and their dog. Marguerite blew out her lamp and set it on the porch before creeping up the steps. Charlie, the big black dog, grumbled in his sleep. Marguerite paled, and instantly froze. He was a sweet dog, so thankfully if he woke there wouldn't be any trouble. Unless he barked his loud bark. Instead, he just rolled over on his bed, allowing Marguerite to sneak inside.

She quickly hung up her shawl and scurried through the dark house to the loft she was sharing with her mother. And Christine.

Christine Daae was just a year older than Marguerite. But the poor girl had seen so much in her young life. At age seven, her father had died of a terrible illness. He had been her whole world. He had guided her and taught her to sing. They had traveled all over Europe. Christine's father had been a rather famous violinist, and the two shared their love of music with whoever would listen.

Gustave Daae' had known Marguerite's mother for ages. He arranged for her to take Christine in as her own when he knew he was dying. He had no other family, and his wife's family hadn't spoken to them in years. Christine didn't have a mother as Marguerite did. In a way, she could understand. Marguerite hadn't ever known her father. She had been much too young when he passed away. All Marguerite had of him was a small photo and a large leather bound book of fairytales.

Christine stirred in her bed as Marguerite slipped into her own. Her mop of unruly mahogany curls shielded her slumbering face. Marguerite studied her for a moment, biting her lower lip nervously as her friend lifted her head.

"Meg?" Christine had given Marguerite that little nickname upon meeting her, insisting her full name was too hard to say. Not that Marguerite minded at all. She rather preferred Meg to her own name. It seemed too proper and uptight for her.

"Go back to sleep, Christine." Meg whispered.

"You went to the beach again, didn't you?"

Meg cringed. "Don't tell!"

"Of course not, my dear Meg. But you mustn't do it anymore. One of these times your Maman will catch you. Or worse, Charlie will think you're a burglar!"

"Quite right! I...I won't anymore, Christine."

"Good. I can't have anything happen to my best friend. I need you." Christine's voice grew soft, and Meg sat up to reach out and touch Christine's hand.

"Nothing will happen to me, Christine. We'll be best friends forever. Nothing will tear us apart."

"Promise?" Christine asked weakly.

"Promise." Meg smiled.

The next day, the girls had planned to play on the beach again. But upon rising, the weather seemed to have other plans. The sky was full of gray clouds, and the air was chilly and cold. Both girls had sat sadly in the loft, staring out the window at the chilly weather. The entire week they had been there, the air had been warm, the sky bright.

Christine thrived in the sunshine. Meg didn't mind either way, though she did prefer the rain. Just not on a holiday. But Christine seemed to need the sun's warm rays to function. Her smile was rare as it was. But in the sunshine, she practically glowed. Meg sighed and got up, taking her friend's hand and leading her downstairs. The two spent the rainy day with a stack of books and Charlie in Meg's uncle's study.

After lunch, a beam of sunshine began to push through the dark clouds. Meg and Christine begged Madame Giry to let them go out, even for a little while. The older woman just sighed and helped them bundle up after a good amount of begging. Whatever made them happy. After the holiday it would be back to the theater, back to dancing. Madame Giry knew that wasn't the best lifestyle for her girls, but she knew it would make them strong, make them talented. She had high hopes for them. She didn't know what else to do for them. Madame Giry was the ballet mistress, and not very rich. She couldn't afford any other lifestyle.

The two girls set off, mindful of the muddy roads. The sky was still gray, but the sun was still prominent. Christine was already smiling. She had a bright red scarf on that contrasted against her pale skin, and her bright blue eyes sparkled happily. Meg thought her friend never looked lovelier.

Meg wore her mother's shawl over her shoulders this time. It was warm and a pale shade of blue. Little lace patterns of flowers were sewn into the fabric, and it was the nicest thing Meg had ever seen. For her mother to allow her to wear this was a treat. She too felt lovely. Like Christine.

Once on the sand, Christine took off running up the crest. Meg laughed and followed as quickly as she could, her shawl slipping past her shoulders. The girls ran past an young boy and an older gentleman, but they were too busy giggling to really notice.

But the boy certainly noticed the girls.

Christine made it up the crest first, Meg close behind. Her fingers loosened around the shawl as she ran up the slight incline overlooking the water. Both girls giggled breathlessly, the sunlight growing more and the gray clouds beginning to disappear. Though the cold breeze kept up, neither Christine or Meg were very cold. The run had gotten the blood flowing, their hearts pounding. They were plenty warm.

"Oh, sunshine! How I could sing so many songs to you, telling you of my love for you! None would be enough!" Christine laughed, throwing her arms up into the air.

Meg couldn't help but laugh along, throwing her arms up as well. But when she did, her mother's precious shawl flew off of her, and down into the crashing waves. She shrieked, her small hands lifting to her pouting lips. "Oh, Christine!" Meg cried. "No! Maman will be furious!"

Christine wrapped her arm around Meg. "No, Meg, no. Everything will be fine. It was an accident, simply an accident."

Meg watched the waves sift the beautiful blue fabric around. It was growing heavier, and it began to sink. Hot tears filled Meg's eyes as she watched it begin to disappear.

A shouting from the shore caught the girls' attention, and they looked over quickly to see the older gentleman that had been standing there was calling out to someone in the water. The young boy they had passed was no longer there. Meg studied the older gentleman, taking in his stylish and sophisticated clothes. So he was an aristocrat. Wasn't it not very aristocratic to yell as he was?

"Oh, a boy!" Christine cried. "Look, Meg, look! He'll catch his death! That water must be freezing!"

Meg looked where Christine pointed out into the water. Indeed, the boy was swimming towards where her shawl had fallen. Meg gasped, rubbing her teary brown eyes as she watched him dive down. She held her breath as they waited. It seemed like forever until he burst out of the water, a familiar piece of fabric in his fist.

He had saved her shawl! Meg hurried down the crest, with Christine following close behind. He swam forward, and Meg reached her hands out to the boy as he crawled up onto the sand. His hair was sopping and clung to his forehead, but his eyes were the deepest and darkest shade of blue. Meg almost forgot to breathe from the sight of such eyes.

"H-here, m-m-miss." He stammered, his teeth chattering as he offered her the shawl. It dripped heavy saltwater tears all over the sand, and Meg reached out and took the familiar fabric.

"Thank you." She murmured. "You silly boy, why did you do that?"

"Y-you were so v-very upset a-a-and sad. I wanted y-you to smile again." He managed to stammer out.

Meg couldn't help but smile as she stepped closer. "It is much appreciated. Thank you, kind sir." She gave a little curtsy before leaning in and kissing his cheek. His skin was cold and wet, but Meg didn't mind one bit. No boy had ever paid her much attention before. When she had pulled away, he had the biggest smile on his face. It made Meg blush, and she looked away shyly.

"What's your n-names?" He asked, finally lifting his eyes to look at Christine.

"I'm Christine." Christine offered softly, rather amused by the whole scene before her. "And this is Marguerite."

Meg blushed bright red, and she shook her golden head of curls. "Meg. I'm Meg."

"Pleasure t-t-to meet you b-both." He was shivering quite roughly now, and though his smile was bright, Meg still furrowed her eyebrows together in worry.

"And yours?" Meg asked with a warm smile.

"Vicomte Raoul de Chagny." An older, masculine voice said impatiently. "My dear brother, always getting into trouble." He rested a heavy coat around the boy's shoulders, and patted his shoulder. "Come along, Raoul. You've done your valiant act for the day. Let's get you cleaned up. Excuse us, mademoiselles."

"Perhaps we'll s-s-see each other again s-soon." Raoul grinned at the girls as he was ushered away.

"Under dryer circumstances, I hope." The older man chuckled.

"Yes, of course Philippe."

Meg tore her gaze away from the departing pair to look down at the cherished blue shawl in her hands. It would need a good washing and drying to be restored to how it once was. Madame Giry would have been so very upset if Meg had lost it. She had trusted her daughter with one of her best possessions and Meg would have never forgiven herself if it was gone forever. And this boy had saved it.

The Vicomte de Chagny had saved it for her.