Disclaimer: Me? Own this ...joy (-is running out of adjectives-)? –bursts out in hysterical laughter-

This school has a basement? Christine thought, slightly surprised. When Madame Giry had told her to go down the stairs, she had really meant it; there had to be fifty steps here. It was the craziest staircase Christine had ever seen in a public building.

"Hello?" she called softly, opening the door at the foot of the staircase tentatively. "I'm looking for…woah."

Piano music hit her so suddenly that she couldn't help but think that the door had been soundproofed. How else could she have missed this angelic melody? It was the most wonderful thing she'd ever heard; the notes seemed to wrap around her body, warming her like a comfortable blanket. Her eyes slipped shut and she swayed unconsciously, humming quietly along for a glorious couple of minutes…

Then, painfully abrupt, the music halted. A guarded voice asked, "Can I help you?"

Her eyes flew open; every nerve screamed in protest, desiring more of that gorgeous melody.

"I—hey, it's you!"

The statement, though childish and stupid-sounding, was very true: though his back was to her, she could tell that the amazing pianist was Erik, the mysterious T.A. from Geometry. He was still dressed as he had been that morning, hood thrown up over the upper portion of his face, overcoat making him appear bulkier than he actually was.

"Can I help you?" he repeated warily, his fingers absently tapping out a gentle tune on the piano's keys.

Christine felt herself enter the tiny room, although it seemed as if her legs were moving of their own free will. This space was interesting; it had a few simple posters tacked to the walls and a cluttered desk. Other than that and the large, black instrument, it was nearly empty.

"Listen, I don't mean to be rude, but I've got a piece to work on," he said softly, snapping her out of her dazed thoughts. "If you're looking for someone specific, you're probably in the wrong place."

"I'm looking for an accompanist for Madame Giry's choir class," she heard herself say. It was the oddest sensation, almost as if her soul had been detached from her body by the magical music, and she wasn't sure she disliked it.

The young man turned sharply and she saw his mouth tighten under the shadow of his hood. "She sent a girl?" he muttered, so quietly that Christine almost didn't hear.

"Yes, she sent a girl," she replied, puzzled. "I'm—"
"I know who you are," he interrupted. At her startled expression, he added, "I heard Mr. Hall say your name this morning. Daae, right?"

"Right. Um…oh. Right." Why was she getting so flustered? This was supposed to be such an easy task: find the pianist, bring him back. Why was she tripping so badly over her words?

"Is she ready?" he asked briskly, standing up from the piano bench. She looked up at him, somewhat surprised by his imposing presence. Imposing? This guy? What is wrong with me?

"Y-yes."

He nodded and brushed past her without another word. Her head spun.

In sleep he sang to me…

"Stop that!" she mumbled to herself. Thinking about cryptic dreams would do her no good. Hadn't she already decided that?

He glanced back. "Are you coming?"

"Yeah, of course." She forced her limbs into motions, though her legs weren't keen on the idea of taking those horrible stairs again. Focus, Christine, you'll get up there and then you'll be able to think clearly again. It's got to be this basement, it's making you a little bit loopy—oof!

Erik had stopped, just at the door, and she crashed into him. He turned and, although she couldn't see his eyes past the thick shadow, she got the distinct impression that he was staring at her. Uncomfortable, she rocked backwards.

"You won't go spreading this around, will you?"

"What?" she asked, feeling more confused than ever. His mouth tightened further.

"You're new to that class, so you probably don't know already. I like to be left alone. If people knew about this room…well, let's just say that it's an unspoken rule of thumb with Madame Giry's class that you do not talk about this place. It is for me and me alone. Are we in agreement?"

Surprised, she nodded. "Sure."

"You're making a promise," he pressed. "A promise that you can't go back on. You have to understand that."

What is the big deal about this room? "Yes, I understand. I promise, I won't tell a soul."

He stared at her for another long, heated moment. Then, seemingly satisfied with her response, he started up the stairs.

Christine exhaled. This boy was such a strange one. What kind of person, after all, kept a hood up all day, hiding everything but the lower portion of a nose and below? And what kind of school allowed it without question?

A/N: Gah, they just keep getting shorter! Lol, the next one should be longer. We hope.