Sorry for making you wait so long again! I can't wait to see if people catch the line that's a play off the musical, though ;)

(Hint: It's what Christine once asked Raul to "order" for her on the roof.)

Since the start of break, each trip out with Philippe had felt like some sort of rebellion. In the early days he would sometimes find himself hesitating before the mirror, as though expecting Erik to burst through, if only to berate him for giving himself away so easily. He soon forced himself out of that habit, however, most for the sake of self-preservation. There were only so many times he could stand being let down, after all.

This, though, was the first time that Ron had allowed Philippe to convince him away from his usual practice hours, and he was starting to wonder whether it had been a mistake.

Being with Philippe before had been a brilliant—a welcome reprieve from all the thoughts that now swirled through his head when he was in the opera house—but now he couldn't draw his mind away from the reminder of what he should have been doing. Even when back at Hogwarts he had practiced at least once a day, hidden away beneath the drawn curtains of his four-poster and using a Silencing Charm to keep people away. Then he might have thought that his current attempts held some merit, but now that he had had his voice swept up to such great heights anything else sounded mediocre at best.

Worst still was that Philippe's promised distraction for the night involved a table at yet another fine restaurant, which would have been fine were it not full of Philippe's friends as well. And he behaved as though Ron should consider this a treat without even realizing that he should have warned Ron at all.

Some of it wasn't too bad. Sebastian might have been the son of a Marquis, but any airs were tossed away the second he got into a rowdy discussion with Ron over cricket. His cousin Violet was more soft-spoken and slightly hard to hear even though the buzz of voices in the restaurant was still relatively dull. The way her whole face lit up, though, whenever Ron would answer whatever question about the opera she had was utterly adorable.

Even with all that, however, Ron could still sense the ominous gazes of the other two additions to the table.

The only person Bridgette seemed interested in talking to was Philippe unless it was to whisper words to the girl at her side, Claude, who was her obvious lapdog. Claude had her blonde curls piled up in the same fashion as Bridgette's own darker hair and even their dresses were similar, despite their differences in coloring. Bridgette's décolletage dipped down far lower, however, which was something she seemed eager to show Philippe based on how close she would lean whenever they spoke. Ron had done his best to hide a snort when her bosom all but landed in the butter dish, but he apparently hadn't done well enough by how she glared at him.

It seemed anything he did was enough to attract either her ire or mocking, however. If Philippe turned to talk to Ron instead of her then she would scowl as though Ron had literally yanked him away from her. And, although Sebastian had commended him for his heart appetite, she giggled behind her hand with Claude when he piled up his plate.

How Philippe managed to go unawares of what was happening at the table was a mystery since even Sebastian had taken to shooting them warning glances and Violet kept looking sympathetically at Ron.

When he excused himself to the bathroom, Ron kept his eyes on his plate, hoping that the bit of silence could be excused by them all being busy with their meals. He soon realized, though, that he should have known better than to expect that kind of luck.

"You do seem rather interested in your food, Ronald." No one called him that anymore except his family or Hermione, which counted for the same thing. "But I suppose on a pauper's budget anything would seem like a spread. In fact, I'm surprised you didn't swoon away once you came inside. Or tried to start cleaning instinctually. That is surely what profession your family occupies in such places, isn't it?"

Ron grit his teeth together. He had been bearing the brunt of such jokes all his life, but this wasn't something that experience made any easier.

"I suppose we should just be glad he didn't try to nick anything," Claude said.

"Yet!" Bridgette tacked on, and the two girls fell into peals of laughter.

"That's enough you two!" Sebastian snapped. "Ron is here as Philippe's guest—surely even you know that affords him a measure of respect."

"Why bother when this whole affair will be over by the time the opera season is out?" Ron finally lifted his head to find Bridgette running her finger idly over the gold thread embroidered across the creamy fabric of the tablecloth. She smirked when she realized that Ron was staring at her. "I know you have as much brains as you do money, but there's no point in deluding yourself. Philippe will forget about you as soon as he beds you. Perhaps even sooner since you have nothing save your looks to capture his attention…and even those are barely above bar."

Ron knew how these sort of exchanges were expected to go—all carefully chosen words and subtle insults. It was something that he didn't have the patience for at the best of times and certainly not now. Especially not when being blunt would serve him far better. "And me being gone would be great for you, I'm sure, since then you could use your heaving bosom to recommend yourself right into Philippe's bed. It's not like you have the brains to manage much else." He shrugged. "Or the standing since you're only a knight's daughter, last I checked."

Violet's hands had flown to her open mouth, although she seemed to be fighting not to let the corners of her lips turn up. Her cousin was already poorly disguising his own snorts of laughter.

It was clear from the way Bridgette flustered for a moment that she hadn't expected Ron to bite back. "I won't be going to Philippe's bed without a ring on my finger! And even before that I'll still be more than you!"

"Only because of a title that means nothing to anyone but you," Ron said, "and can be stripped away at any moment." He pushed his chair back, sending their attendant into a flurry when he raced to try to pull it back instead. "I'll stop bothering your empty head with it all, though. I already know I'm better than you without trying to prove it." He tossed his balled up napkin down into his chair before turning to Sebastian. "Give my excuses to Philippe?"

"Of course," Sebastian said, and Violet didn't bother to hide her smile or the pleased flush to her cheeks when she nodded.

Ron didn't exactly storm out of the place, but the servers still seemed anxious to get the door open fast for him.

It wasn't until the cool night air hit his face that he realized that he didn't have a fixed way to get back. Philippe had driven them over in the de Chagny family's own horse drawn cab, but there was no way he could rely on that now. He could call a cab, except he hadn't brought any money with him so he couldn't pay for it. Maybe if he had the cab wait once he got to the opera house he could dash inside for payment, but would that even be allowed?

"Ron!"

Philippe didn't even wait for the attendees to open the doors for him, pushing through them himself. He looked properly upset at last, although the words that came tumbling out of his mouth where the opposite from what Ron had expected. "Why ever did you say those things to Bridgette? She's been in tears since you left!"

"What?" Ron folded his arms over his chest. "Did you hear what she said to me?" If he hadn't then maybe he could be forgiven for being so firmly on the wrong side.

"Well…yes," Philippe said. "But I don't understand why you let yourself get so upset. Not when you know that none of it's true."

Ron could almost feel all the fine food he had eaten earlier shifting inside his stomach, threatening to come up. "So I'm just supposed to sit there and listen to her insult me? Insult my family?" Honestly, the only step worse Bridgette could have taken would have been to find some way to insult his friends as well. "You can't ask that of me, Philippe. It's bloody impossible!"

Philippe's brow furrowed. "I'm not asking you to forgive her," he said, "since you seem to be incapable of that, but at least come back inside. Acting like this is beneath you. It's… It's just plain childish."

Ron's spine snapped up straight, his arms falling down to leave his hands hanging limp at his sides. It had hurt bad enough to hear Erik suggest that he was behaving immaturely, but to hear Philippe say it too—and when he was clearly in the wrong—was just too much.

"Fuck you, Philippe," he bit out, taking satisfaction in the way Philippe's eyes widened. "If anyone's the child here it's you. Are you honestly naïve enough to believe that you can change Bridgette's opinion of me with a snap of your fingers? Or that she isn't behaving just how mostly everyone in your circle will?" He shook his head. "I'm through cratering to your sensibilities. Don't bother me tomorrow. I'll be too busy dealing with what actually matters—my work."

He turned on his heel, marching down the streets and ignoring Philippe calling after him. He wasn't even sure if he was going in the right direction, all he knew was that he wanted to get away from Philippe as quickly as possible.

Which was why the arrival of the dark brougham cab seemed perfectly timed, although the door swung open before Ron could even touch the handle and he drew in a sharp breath, actually stumbling back a step when he saw who was inside.

"You seem in need of insistence," Erik said. He twisted his hands when Ron didn't speak right away; a nervous gesture that seemed out of place in the confidence Ron was so used to seeing from him. "I know the chosen company may not be pleasurable, but it would only be for a short time, I promise."

"Ron! Let me gather my own cab, at least!"

Erik's lips twisted up beneath the line of his mask. "He will no doubt be asking them to summon his fine horses," he remarked bitterly. He reached for the door handle, as if to pull it close, and that was what triggered Ron to surge inside the cab.

"Screw his fine horses," he said, tugging the door shut on Philippe's voice.

Once they returned to the opera house it became clear that Erik didn't in fact have a plan. Ron wondered whether Erik had even expected him to accept his offering, which made his heart ache, and when Erik tried to guide him to his dressing room he shook his head. "I want to go down below."

The surprise showed in Erik's face for only a brief moment before he nodded, leading Ron towards a door that he had never seen before. He was so biddable that it was actually a little unnerving. All of his great presence seemed to have been stripped from him, leaving behind a man whose hands fluttered around Ron, never touching him, as though the slightest startle might scare him away.

Even the lair came as a surprise once Ron had set foot on the stone floor and was able to take in the state of it. There had been some attempt to sweep the mess away, but the bulk of it still remained. But, for all that, there wasn't so much as a sheet disturbed, the golden curtains drawn back as though he had only just left.

"Ron…"

Ron turned at the sound of his name, only to inhale sharply when Erik snuck down to his knees before him. "What are you doing? Erik, you don't have to…" He reached out to place his hands on Erik's shoulders, unsure of whether he wanted to actually shake the man or not. "Please get up!"

"If you knew how difficult it was to convince me into such a position then you wouldn't protest so." There was some of Erik's usual wry humor in his tone, but there was also a twinge of bitterness that made Ron want to wince. "But then you do seem to live to defy expectations…" He sighed. "Except when it comes to that de Chagny boy."

Ron frowned. He was starting to get tried of having to repeat this over and over again. "Things aren't like that between us," he said. "Even Philippe has accepted that now."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Erik said. "I find it hard to believe that anyone would be able to toss you aside so easily after being trapped in your orbit."

The back of Ron's collar was growing hot. "I think you're giving me too much credit," he said.

"Truly?" Erik queried. "Then tell me—who's the one on their knees?"

"I didn't ask you to go there!" Ron shot back.

"Perhaps not," Erik said, "but there was a reason behind it. If you will let me show you…" One of his hands raised in a seeming unconscious movement and he looked prepared to drop it before Ron dropped his own hand into it, curling his fingers round to keep it there. "You were right—" And that was a major concession, Ron knew that. "—I should have trusted you. But I only acted in order to protect you."

"I can do that myself, you know," Ron said.

"I don't doubt that," Erik said. "But you rely on support, do you not? I believe your friends are proof of that." He came close to smiling over the way Ron rolled his eyes. "And… And you told me you didn't want to love him." He was treading in dangerous waters here now, for both of them but mainly for himself. "Yet I could not help imagining what it would be like if that boy did manage to sway you and what the repercussions might be…"

"I'm not Christine." Ron forced himself to speak more firmly then he felt. Because it was true that Ron had become dangerously close to being reeled back in, he could sense that somewhat now, and if it hadn't been for the disastrous dinner tonight he couldn't be sure what would have happened. "I'm not going to leave you unless you make me."

"That will never happen," Erik swore, and the fervent tone in his voice surprised Ron.

"I'm sorry for hurting you," he blurted out. "I was angry, which isn't an excuse, but it always makes me bloody stupid and…"

Erik rose up to his full height, which was more then enough to stem the flow of Ron's words. "It is a condition that I am intimately familiar with, believe me." He paused then said, "Apology accepted…if you'll accept mine."

"Yours?" Ron snorted. "Of course, you don't even…" He shook his head, but there was a smile tugging on the corners of his mouth. "We're going to have to have a proper talk in the morning. Lay down ground rules and all that."

"Are we?" Erik asked. The amusement was back in his voice, sounding more real than before.

"Yes." Ron tired to swallow down a yawn and failed. "But first bed."

"Has our discussion taken so much out of you already?" Erik asked.

"No, but the earlier one…" Ron trailed off, brow furrowing when he remembered the argument he had had with Philippe. He had half thought that he might come to regret the words once his temper had a chance to cool off, but he found that, at least for now, he didn't want to take a single one back. "Can I stay down here for the rest of the break? I need to work on my music and I don't want to… Well."

"I won't disapprove of your determination when it comes to your voice." There was a wry twist to Erik's lips. "Or your avoidance of that boy of yours."

"He's not mine," Ron said. "I'd pay to see the lecture Madame Giry will give him if he tries to come looking for me, though. I should ask her to bring a note to Harry and Hermione to explain where I am…" He looked up in confusion when Erik started to laugh. "What is it?"

"I have quite the interesting story," Erik said. "Perhaps it can even count as a bedtime story. It most certainly has a happy ending now."