Disclaimer: You all know by now I don't own Phantom, but I'll give the mods the benefit of the doubt and say they haven't read any previous chapters. Therefore, I once again do NOT own Phantom of the Opera. …This story is progressing nicely though, don't you think?

I'M BAAAAAAACK!

...for awhile, anyways...

Thanks to all of you guys for patience, reviews, everything!

Chapter XV: The Reunion

Isabella ran to her chamber to dress before accompanying Adrien into the city. Surprising, she thought as she pulled on a light blue dress, how she barely missed the world above. It felt as though she had been here all her life, when in reality it was only three days. She didn't miss the sunlight (which surprised her as well), for music had become her light in darkness.

Living down here with them, especially with Erik, makes me feel free, cared about, and even… poetic, to an extent.

Isabella had not been able to get the memories of singing with Adrien out of her mind. They had become one, their voices entwining and merging together. And it had sounded so… perfect.

Enveloping herself in a midnight blue cloak, Isabella shook her head to clear her thoughts and hurried down the passageway.

Adrien looked up from fastening his black silk cravat and smiled at her in the mirror. She walked up behind him and flung her arms around his neck. "What are you going to say when we get there?"

"I was just thinking about that, as a matter of fact," he smiled wryly. Isabella leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed. "Do you know where he lives?"

Adrien fought the urge to roll his eyes. The Château de Chagny was one of the biggest châteaus in Paris, not far from the Opera House, and very difficult to miss.

Instead he answered, "I've passed it a few times."

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Twenty minutes later the two of them were climbing out of a taxi in front of the Château de Chagny.

Isabella caught her breath as she turned to stare at it in wonder. "I've never seen anything so big and glamorous… Well, except perhaps the Opera House or the Coliseum," she added on an afterthought.

She took Adrien's arm and they walked up the garden path. He turned to her before knocking on the door. "Do you think he'd remember you, from the other day?"

"No, I don't think he ever saw me… But if he did, I look so different now anyways," she said. True, she had a gorgeous dress, new shoes, and had cut her hair a little.

Adrien smiled and knocked on the door.

A servant answered a moment later, and Adrien said, "We would like to speak with the Vicomte de Chagny, s'il vous plait."

The man nodded. "Un moment."

"Merci."

He returned a few seconds later and bowed them in. "He will receive you in the library. Follow me, if you please."

He led them down a hallway filled with portraits and exquisite light fixtures. Isabella bit her tongue to keep from gasping over the classic Degas paintings. These could quite probably be his original works!

She was accustomed to Da Vinci and Raphael, but Degas… he was special.

The servant pushed two heavy oak doors wide, revealing an enormous room filled with books, a fireplace, and a large coffee table with three leather armchairs and a sofa around it.

The elderly Vicomte rose jerkily from his chair and nodded to his servant, who bowed himself out and shut the doors again.

Adrien and Isabella proceeded to greet the man; he shook Adrien's hand and kissed Isabella's. He regarded the pair with a wary eye as they settled on the small couch.

"Now, what was it that you wished to meet with me about?" His voice was almost tired, but his bright eyes betrayed it.

"Well sir," Adrien started, but he trailed off, not sure how to explain himself.

Isabella glanced at him and began herself. "Sir, we live near the Opera House and… well, it is strange, I doubt you'll believe it… But we have reason to believe that—

"That I am your son." Adrien had found his voice and now watched the Vicomte tensely.

The old man's face clouded over and he shook his head. "My dear boy, I once had a son, no doubt of that. However, if you think you can just waltz into my home and call yourself my son, then you are wasting your time and insulting me at the same time. I am too old for this, and I do realize that this should make me an easy target for people who want to take advantage of my wealth and status. I will not have it, I tell you! Now, be gone from here!"

He stood, anger etched in the wrinkled features. "Go on, now, out!"

"Please sir, you don't understand!" Adrien stood too.

"If you will, please listen to us for a moment," Isabella added. "And… I had a question, for curiosity's sake."

The Vicomte heaved himself back in the chair, legs supporting him no longer. "Well, get on with it."

"What happened to your son?"

His smile was mirthless. "I doubt you would believe me if I told you, mademoiselle."

"Please, sir?" Adrien sat again as well, calming himself enough to listen.

Raoul sighed. "Fine… My son… he was stolen from me."

"Did your wife run away with him?"

"Confound it, girl, let me finish!"

Adrien laid a hand on her shoulder in comfort and nodded courteously.

He continued, "No, she gave him to that… that monster."

At this, Adrien's other hand clenched in a fist and he asked through gritted teeth, "Who was it?"

Raoul glared at a point over Adrien's shoulder. "The Phantom of the Opera."

Isabella decided not to play the story out. "That means, then, that Adrien really is your son!"

"What do you mean?"

Adrien sighed. "The Phantom—Erik—told us about this."
"What are you talking about? That man killed my son! He swept him off to his dungeon to torture myself and Christine for the rest of our lives! That's why she died so young, she couldn't take it!"

"Please, Vicomte, you are wrong!" Adrien's voice blazed with frustration that the man did not understand. "Erik may have taken me that night, but he raised me as his own! From the way he tells it, that's what Mother… that's what Christine wanted!"

Raoul glared daggers at him. "Then why do you call her Christine, eh? What was wrong with Mother, it had a nice sound, no?"

Adrien stared back. "I've been without a mother for eighteen years, it does not feel proper calling her that when I have only heard 'Christine' all my life. Erik always talked about her… He played for her every night… He missed her so, but he had me! Please… try to understand…"

Raoul sat for a moment, then asked slowly, "Adrien, that's it?"

"Sir?"

"Your name," he growled. "He called you Adrien, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

The Vicomte's eyes welled with tears. "We always wondered what—if anything—he had named you. My son…"

He threw open his arms, and Adrien rose from the sofa to embrace him.

"It was only hours after you were born, too… I despised Christine's decision… I would not speak to her for a month after it happened, I thought she might still be in love with him after all those years…"

Adrien wept as well, and Isabella was moved to tears watching the reunion.

At that moment, the servant returned with a tray of tea and biscuits. He stumbled, seeing their faces, and asked, "Monsieur, shall I wait for you? I am sorry to have interrupted…"

Raoul gestured him over. "No, no, Samuel, please, bring it here. We need refreshments now, there is much to talk about."

Samuel nodded and set the tray on the table. "As you wish, sir."

Adrien returned to sit beside Isabella as they began to catch up on each others' lives.

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Sorry about the ending, I just wanted it to be happy. If you didn't like it, wait for the next chapter is all I can say. Samuel doesn't play that major of a part, I just came up with him off the top of my head when I was writing this. R+R!