Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera, I own my own characters. Enjoy.

A/N: Hey guys! I know I said I'd publish after Lent, but I got all the chappies done early! Yea me! so I'm putting them all up now, enjoy!

This is a long chapter, so I apologize in advance if you don't like the time skips. But otherwise, this would take up two chapters and I'm hoping to finish it in the next one.

Chapter XIX – The Chandelier

Isabella shivered happily. They were going to rebuild the opera! She could finally achieve her dream of being on the stage.

"Erik," said Adrien tentatively, "how can we rebuild the opera without drawing much attention to ourselves?"

Erik waved a hand dismissively. "A majority of the old workers still live in the area, and Madame Giry is quite discreet. I'll send a message along to her immediately."

Without further ado, he swept back down the deserted corridor.

The reality of the setting flooded back into Isabella's senses. They were standing in a dark passage with one lantern, and it was probably close to 2 am.

Adrien smothered a yawn. "So, shall we go to bed or figure out a way to help Erik?"

She didn't give it a second thought. "Come on!"

They burst into Erik's study to find him sealing an envelope with his traditional skull stamp.

Isabella was floored. "You're done already? It was only five seconds!"

"No, indeed," he smiled. "This is for something else."

Ten minutes later, he'd finished the note:

My dearest Antoinette,

This is a matter of utmost discretion and urgency. We have decided to rebuild the opera, and require your assistance. Gather as many of the old workers as you can find and offer them the position of aiding a noble cause. Your place as ballet mistress will be restored. I shall fund the project, perhaps with some aid from the Vicomte de Chagny if necessary. I will be in touch again soon.

Fondest regards,

O. G.

Isabella smiled. "O.G. forever and for always."

Erik shrugged good-naturedly. "Old habits die hard, I'm afraid."

"I'll deliver it now, if you want," said Adrien, striding over to the desk.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Twenty minutes later, Adrien stood outside a small flat, his cloak whipping in the wind.

He knocked quietly on the door. "Madame?"

It was answered by a woman in her early fifties.

"Monsieur?" she said warily, all trace of sleepiness vanished.

"Pardon the hour, but I'm asked to deliver this to a Madame Giry."

"Oh…" her eyes turned to pools of grief as she took the letter from him. "Please come in, won't you?"

He obliged and stepped over the threshold into what would normally be a very modest little home. it was strewn with clothes and boxes, and smelled of dead roses.

"I'm terribly sorry about the mess, sir. My life has been rather hectic for the past few weeks, with…"

She turned to him with a weakly pasted smile. "I'm Meg Giry."

He nodded and shook her hand. Cold, just beginning to show the knots of age.

"Adrien."

She eyed him, waiting for a surname, and he smiled.

"Just Adrien, is all."

She looked sadly at the envelope in her hands.

"My mother – I assume the Madame Giry you were told to deliver this to – is no longer here. She… died, three weeks ago."

Adrien was thrown. "What happened?"

Meg looked equally surprised. "Natural causes. But it's been all over the papers since, haven't you seen?"

Adrien shook his head slowly. "I'm so sorry." He moved toward the door.

"So I was packing away all of her things, and I've decided to move to the Loire Valley since the opera burned down. You do know about that, right?" she asked teasingly.

He rolled his eyes. "Who in Europe hasn't?"

He suddenly wheeled around. "Hang on, do you remember the opera ghost?"

Meg shivered in girlish delight. "Oh, he scared us all out of our wits, but it was quite entertaining with all the gossip. Why do you ask?"

"Well… from what I could gather from the context, I think the note could be meant for you as well. Especially seeing as how your mother has passed on."

She gave him a quizzical look and read through the letter, her expression turning from delight to confusion and wonder.

"O.G.?" she whispered, the old fear coming back into her eyes. "He's still alive?"

"Indeed."

"But… he vanished the night of the fire."

"That he did. But he's always been here, in Paris."

She read the letter through again.

"This would not be so hard to accomplish. Most of the people he speaks of still live in the vicinity."

"And would you… I mean, are you able to fill the ballet mistress position?"

"Oh, yes," she chuckled. "I still stretch every day, I'm not that old, boy!"

He laughed. "Alright then, I should go so you can get some sleep."

She followed him to the door. "Thank you so much, Adrien. You'll return, won't you?"

"Of course."

He walked down to the street and hailed one of the few passing cabs.

"Rue de Rivoli, please."

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"Did you make certain Antoinette read the note?"

Adrien shot him an uneasy glance.

"Erik, I… Antoinette is dead."

Erik froze. "What?"

"Natural causes, three weeks ago," he said quietly, eyes on the floor.

"Who told you?"

"Her daughter."

Erik smiled a little, remembering her.

"Ah, yes. Dear little Meg, always gossiping. She must be much older now than I recall. How is she?"

Adrien shrugged, yawning again. "She's well, she was talking about moving south because Antoinette's gone and the opera's destroyed. But… I gave her the note and offered her the position."

Erik raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"She wants to help."

"Good. We'll get started in a few days, once I've spoken with her."

Adrien nodded vaguely and stumbled off to bed.

XXX---XXX---XXX

A week later, Erik, Isabella and Adrien stood in the chilly rafters of the Garnier opera, listening to Meg give orders.

"We need to sweep and dust this place from the rafters to the seats (or lack thereof).

"We'll have to reupholster the furniture and make new curtains. Restock the costume department. Repair the stage floor and orchestra pit. Paint the walls, staircase and statues."

Most of the workers held various tools: mops, brooms, plywood, cloth. They nodded vaguely, taking in the full extent of damage to the building. A sudden gust of wind brought several twittering birds through a hole in the roof.

"Half of you will go up to fix that hole, and the other half will sweep and mop the floors. Get to it!" she clapped her hands and people sped in every direction.

Erik's cape swished as he stalked away.

"What are we going to do?" Isabella asked. "Aren't we going to help?"

"Of course. What we're doing is much bigger than any of that."

He gave his cloak a theatrical flourish as they rounded a corner and the other two stopped dead.

"I don't believe it," Isabella whispered.

"The chandelier," breathed Adrien. "We're going to fix it!"

Erik nodded. "Modernize it."

They looked at him strangely, and he elaborated.

"Isabella, you were at the auction. Madame Giry bought the chandelier and had several men wire it for this… electricity."

He spat the word in disgust, then went on, sneering.

"But I suppose we must do what we can to keep up with technology."

Adrien whipped the cover off the half-restored pile of gold and crystal, squinting from two inches of dust that rose ominously from the cloth.

"Where do we start?" asked Isabella in a choked voice, waving the filth away.

"Well…" Erik had drawn his cloak over his mouth and now circled the chandelier. "We'll have to use utmost care and caution with it; crystal and gold are very fragile and you can't find them everywhere like you used to. We have to weld the beads into the framework and figure out a way to lift it."

"Couldn't we just lift it now?" she asked. "It's all in pieces, why—"

"We'll have to lift it after we've rebuilt it," Erik explained. "Otherwise, one might cut themselves on a piece of glass. And when it is finished, it should weigh about four tons, even without real candles."

Isabella shrank back. "Oh."

Adrien studied the broken masterpiece. "Perhaps we could have some of the horses lift it for us."

Isabella turned to him. "How?"

"We'd have to use strong ropes, mind you, but if we tie one end to the chandelier and one end to the horses, it might be enough. What do you think, Erik?"

Erik bent down to untangle several lines of beads.

"That may work, but they will have to use utmost caution."

"Naturally," Adrien agreed. "Are we rebuilding it up here?"

"I had planned on it. Why do you ask?"

He shrugged. "It will be more difficult to lift from up here, that's all."

Isabella jumped in. "Couldn't we rebuild part of it up here, take it down to the stage level and lift it that way?"

"Most of it is built," Erik replied. "It's been partially rewired already, and we just need to finish that and shine it up a bit. But yes, that would probably work."

Isabella beamed.

------

It took longer to polish the chandelier than Erik had first envisioned, but that was only because they worked at night. Two weeks after Meg had gotten the old hands to start rebuilding the opera, Erik and Isabella stood on the stage floor waiting for Adrien to bring the horses around.

Soon the horses' hooves were heard, clopping quietly through the old backstage area. Isabella gasped in delight as Adrien rounded the corner followed by a team of four horses, expertly holding all their reins.

Erik smoothed the coat of a black stallion. "Oh, Cesar," he whispered softly into the horse's ear, "It's been such a long time, no? But I have need of you again."

Cesar nickered at Erik's hand and became still again as Adrien tied him to the chandelier.

The horses strained against the ropes for all they were worth, and slowly, little by little, the chandelier was lifted from the ground. Isabella smiled in awe as the enormous structure was heaved upwards. It rose higher, almost touching the ceiling, and a short clang echoed through the room. Adrien glanced back and saw that Erik had gone up to the ceiling and attached a huge chain to the chandelier, thus keeping it aloft. He patted Cesar's nose happily. "Well done, boys."

Isabella threw her arms around him. "We did it!"