Disclaimer: I do not own any version of the Phantom of the Opera (except my DVD and soundtrack) and make no money from this story.

Author's Note:

Sorry if Erik's been spending most of this story being moody and frightening, but let's face it, he's not going to recover that quickly and the Giry's aren't going to be a favourite of his. His get better eventually.

Bit of a shorter chapter this time, and not much happens, but it is necessary to the plot so bear with me. I apologise for being so slow at updating, but school's being a pain and I have to put that as a priority, not matter how much I wish otherwise. I might be able to get another couple of chapters out over the xmas holidays, but I've still got lots of work on so we'll just have to wait and see. Please review! I'd be very grateful for any feedback. Oh, by the way: Britomartis, you mentioned a new reply button for reviews. Can you tell me where that is? Maybe I just haven't noticed yet because I haven't had any recent reviews, but if you could just confirm it then that would be good. Thanks!

In case I don't post again over Christmas I'd just like to wish all my readers a wonderful Christmas and a Happy New Year.

"Quarrels would not last long if the fault was only on one side." – François de la Rochefoucauld

- Estelle Tiniwiel –x –.

Meg slid down the door and buried her face in her hands, sobbing with shame – how could she have been so careless? All she had been asked to do was go and fetch a loaf of bread and yet she'd still managed to put them in danger. She knew Martine knew a lot about the story of Christine and the Phantom, Meg had been the one who told her; Martine knew that the infamous Opera Ghost had been called the Angel of Music by Christine, but that people who had seen his face described him as a demon, and there Meg had been blurting out dreaming about angels and demons. Martine would have to be exceedingly thick not to notice the link and Meg knew Martine was a very bright girl. Meg could not believe how recklessly stupid she had been.

"Meg?" Her mother knocked gently at the door.

"Meg, are you alright? There's no need to be ashamed; everyone makes mistakes."

"Not as big as this!" Meg wailed.

Madame Giry closed her eyes and leant her head against the doorframe.

"Please, Meg, listen to me: what's done is done. You can't change the fact that you said what you did, you can only try and make the best of a bad situation. Go back to Martine's tomorrow and have a chat with her: tell her you said what you said because Christine's still upset about what happened and you're worried about her. The whole of Paris is scared that the Phantom is on the loose, and I would say many would believe Christine is in the most danger of all, which gives you good reason to be thinking of her. Hmm?"

"It's not that simple and Martine's not that stupid! She's bound to know something's going on! You were the one who took all the Phantom's messages: it's not going to be that hard for her to make the link between that and us sheltering him, especially after what I said!"

"Meg, please stop screaming at me and let me come in."

"No!"

"Meg, please open the door."

"No!"

"Meg, please open the door!"

"I said no!"

Meg suddenly felt herself thrown across the room as Erik kicked the door as hard as he could, breaking the lock and flinging the door open.

Madame Giry put her hands to her mouth in horror as he strode across the room and pulled Meg up.

"Monsieur, please! What are you doing!"

Erik turned to place burning eyes on her.

"Teaching her a lesson."

Madame Giry felt faint and slightly sick at this. Unless he was teaching Christine all his other lessons involved pain.

"Please, Monsieur Erik, she did not mean to let it slip: it was a mistake! Please leave her be!"

"No."

Madame Giry tried to push in between the two, but Erik merely gripped her collar and steered her away to hold her at arm's length before letting go and turning back to Meg.

"You," he hissed, pointing sharply at Meg, "have made a very large error. When you first told us of your little trip I thought nothing of it, I didn't much care whether or not I was found. The gallows have been waiting for me all my life. But then I remembered that I am not the only one you have put in danger." He scowled at her look of sheer bewilderment. "Really, Mademoiselle Giry, I am not completely selfish: you I don't care for, but your mother has been a most faithful and obedient servant and, I have been led to believe, quite a good mother. So I am not going to let you let her down." He paused momentarily, letting the tension build; he could see Meg start to shake. "You will do as your mother says and talk to that girl. You will convince her that you know nothing of my whereabouts or I'm afraid she may meet with a rather unfortunate accident."

Meg whimpered slightly, tears of fright rolling down her smooth cheeks. This man was renowned for making threats and seeing their terms complied with, but never had it been directed at her like this. If she did not do as this man ordered then her friend would die. She felt herself hating this man: how could he be so cold and ruthless when she had tried to help him, when she had taken pity on him? She felt her insides burn and roil as her pity turned to loathing and disgust.

"Christine was right," she half whispered, the spite evident in her voice, "you truly are a monster."

He glared at her, the look so piercing Meg felt it go to her heart as thought someone was shoving needles into her chest, and raised his arm as if to strike her, but turned away and blasted a lamp off the dresser.

Meg let out the breath she was holding with relief. Madame Giry still looked as though she was torn between fainting and running screaming for the police.

Erik faced the wall above the dresser and tried to suppress the growl of anger and anguish building in his chest. He couldn't understand why he felt so let down that she would think this. Perhaps it was because she was Giry's daughter and he had thought she would always think the same things her mother told her; perhaps it was because she had taken pity on him but now, like with Christine, she had turned against him.

"You can never keep your big mouth shut! Can you Meg Giry."

Meg didn't answer, for fear of ending up like the lamp, lying shattered and broken on the floor.

Suddenly Meg saw her mother's eyes go wide and what little colour there was left drain out of her face.

"Maman, what is the matter?"

Madame Giry pointed wordlessly at the Phantom's hands.

Meg didn't understand. They were perfectly normal hands. Eight fingers, two thumbs, everything. Then it clicked: there were no ropes.

"How did you get out! We tied your hands, how did you get out!"

"Oh, please! You left me in a kitchen, for goodness sake, it wasn't exactly hard to acquire a knife and cut myself free."

By this point Erik had turned to face them. Meg felt her eyes automatically flit around the room to find out if the aforementioned knife was in any position where it could plunge itself into her chest. She was relieved to be assured that no, there was no knife in the room. Just to be on the safe side though…

"Erik… where is the knife."

"On the sideboard next to the tea set."

Meg met her mother's eye and they silently agreed that it would be safe to leave the room now without being severely reprimanded by the tall man standing in front of them. But just then the man moved.

In his exasperated mood Erik had let his gaze wander across the room, resting at last on the bedside table, where he caught a glimpse of white. Both women felt themselves tense and fear rise once more in their hearts as anger flared in the Phantom's eyes and his tone became dark, hard, and sharp as shard of obsidian.

"What are you doing with my mask?"