A/N: Hello and welcome everyone! Thanks to QueenChick, Bergerac, and Snarky.Kitty.Dahlinz for their excellent and heartfelt feedback. Much appreciated, as always. Disclaimer: Don't sue. Not mine.

It was in the early morning that Christine Daae could be heard singing in her room. It was a mournful tune, but made less so by her infantile, untrained voice. The Phantom heard her. Her voice did not displease him, but it did not make him weep from its quality. He heard her while he was walking in between the walls, and stopped to listen. A sudden inspiration came to him

"I am your Angel." He whispered slowly through the walls. Christine stopped singing on account of her fright. "Come to me, child."

"Papa?" she asked, her voice shaking.

"No." he said. "I am not your father. I am the Angel of Music."

Christine closed her eyes and dimly remembered what her father had said on his deathbed. A melancholy violin chord began to descend upon her, and the Phantom smirked with glee.

"Come to your Angel." He said delicately.

She searched the room for his form, but found nothing.

"Please, show yourself." She commanded.

"It is not your place." He growled. "To ask such favors."

Christine fell silent and trembled horribly.

"Yes. Angel." She said with trepidation.

Erik's voice resumed a curt and lecturing tone.

"You are to tell no one of my presence." He said. "Keep it a secret hidden within you. You are to come here every night at seven o'clock precisely. I will therefore instruct you in the art of the voice. You are to obey me."

Christine gave a muted 'yes' and Erik smiled greedily.

"You may go." He snarled.

Christine left the room and Erik listened to her fading footsteps. He then turned on his heel and walked down into the catacombs. He snickered lightly and mused.

"What a fool I am." He said, "To think that this child will listen to me. Such are whims, they pass in the length of a second."

He went farther down into the catacombs and sat on his bed. Giry soon entered.

"Mon ange." She said. "I have marvelous news."

"What is it?" he asked.

"A priest shall indeed oversee our wedding."

"Who is he?" Erik asked.

"The man who married me and Armand." Explained Giry. "He is very kind, and he agreed to marry us without public record of the marriage."

"How did you convince him?" asked Erik.

"I said it was a union for our own private purposes and that it was a matter of young love."

"Neither of us is young." Said Erik, to which Giry looked at him stonily, but in a comical way. "My apologies, ma cherie." He said, and laughed. "You are as beautiful as the day I first met you."

"I have also set the date." Continued Giry. "December 12th. It is a Sunday."

"Will our daughter attend?" asked Erik.

This question apparently was too much for Giry. Tears began to streak across her face and soon she was sobbing at Erik's feet.

"But Antoinette." He said, cradling her in his arms. "What is it?"

"She hates me, Erik. And she hates you. She said the…the…worst things about both of us. But she is young, she doesn't understand."

"What exactly did she say?" asked Erik as he kissed the top of her head.

"She said that you were a bastard who ruined my life." She whispered. "She said that your were a murdering traitor. She said she was ashamed of me. Erik, why?"

"She will never love me." Said Erik sadly. "But that is how life is. Do not dwell on it Antoinette. It will come to pass. I have learnt my lesson for dwelling on the past. But what your daughter said was true."

"Erik!" cried Giry. "Mon beau ange, you must never say that!" she hugged him. "I love you, I swear. You are not a murderous bastard."

"Then what am I, Antoinette?"

Giry looked up at him, her eyes full of tears.

"You are my only friend." She said slowly. "And for that I am thankful."

Giry gave him one despairing kiss and lay down beside him on the bed.

"Someday," she said to him. "I will take you outside, and you will see the stars. They are beautiful Erik, so beautiful."

"They will never be as beautiful as you." Said Erik, his voice melodious. He kissed her cheek and wiped away the tears.

The next month Giry dressed herself primly in a beautiful, flowing, royal blue organdy gown. She let her brown hair fall down in lustrous locks to her waist, and combed it through, twisting a rose through her hair. Before she left she went to Meg's room.

"Come, Marguerite." She said sadly. "We must be on our way."

"Mama," said Meg, "I cannot come. I cannot see you marry…my father."

"Do not feel any shame." Said Giry slowly. "You may stay here. But do not expect to see me for a few days. Be a good girl, and take care of Christine."

"Yes, Mama. I wish you well." She said this impassively.

"Goodbye, Marguerite." She said, and gave her daughter a hug. "You will understand in time."

She went out from the Opera Populaire and jumped into a fiacre. A single tear raced down her face, and she felt both joy and trepidation. She was to marry her lover, finally, but wondered what would transpire if she did.

Erik himself had ventured out into the city of Paris, cunningly disguised with a white mask and wrapped in his black cloak. Despite his usual confident self, he was shaky from nervousness. He did not know if he had made the right choice in marrying Giry.

But the pair eventually met at the church, and both looked at each other shyly, both acting as if they were virgins. Giry dared not look into Erik's eyes and he held his face ashamedly away from her. Erik took his position at the front of the church quietly, and Giry resumed her position at the back. She veiled herself and walked down the aisle with the distant chords of Ave Maria playing from the organ pit. She stood beside her beloved, and murmured the words of union with a soft whisper. Erik followed suit, until the priest had finished his benediction.

"You may kiss the bride." He said solemnly, and Erik gently lifted Giry's veil so he could see her face. Tears were streaming from her eyes.

"My love," he whispered so only she could hear. "Do not cry."

With one askance look at the priest, he kissed her and took in the taste of her lips and her perfume. She adored the feeling of his arms cradling him, and kissed feverishly back. He turned his back on the priest and lifted her so she was cradled in his arms, and, carrying her, he ran from the church.

In silence the pair boarded a fiacre and drove back to the Opera Populaire. Tenderly, Erik helped Giry out of the fiacre and then with a wave of his hand dismissed the carriage. He opened up a small door in the side of the opera house, and took Giry down into the catacombs, to his lair.

When in his home, Giry kissed him silently, and pleaded with her eyes to be led to the bedroom. Erik obeyed, and laid her down soothingly like they had so many years before.

"Sweet intoxication." She whispered. "Is ours to hold and to share."

"The music of the night is forever ours." He replied, and kissed her passionately.

She said nothing, but undressed herself coyly, and he followed suit. They finally felt whole, and each was in a paroxysm of bliss.

A/N: Maybe more Christine-ness in the next chapter. Hope you enjoyed. Please read and review.