The movie changes the event of Eric's upbringing a lot, having him arrive in the Opera House at the time (the Opera Garnier was started in 1861 and wasn't finished until 1873) as a child instead of as an adult. An explanation is needed of how he learned and gathered his abilities and possessions. Also, the movie changes Madame Giry's character slightly, too, having her know more about him and still having her keeping his secrets a secret. So here's a possible explanation.

Disclaimer: This is fan fiction. I don't own the characters obviously.

A/N: This is going to be a long fanfic from the time when young Madame Giry rescues Erik to after Christine leaves with Raoul. I will try to update as often as I can but bear with me. The rating is for later chapters.

He awoke to find the strange girl watching him with the same expression she had worn the previous evening before helping him get free of the gypsy camp. Instinct told him to pull his burlap sack down over his face, for it had somehow moved to show her his face in his sleep.

"Don't." She reached out to protest the action. He caught himself, staring back at her from half under his mask.

He felt an emotion in himself he had never known before and sorted it around his mind, trying to determine a word to call it to no avail.

"Why didn't you laugh?" he found the words to say in a soft little voice.

She seemed to start at the sound of his voice but returned to her previous kind expression. "You seemed so lost… and that little doll."

He gazed at her, wondering if she was perchance an angel as he had heard existed. "Are you an angel?" he asked.

Her eyes went wide, and she shook her head, laughing a little. He started to wince, but stopped himself because her laughter held none of the meanness to which he had grown accustomed. Her laughter was unlike anything he had ever experienced before, and again he felt the strange emotion.

But she was answering his question, so he would try to find out what the sensation was later. "Of course not! My name is Marguerite. I'm a ballet student here."

He gazed at her again, unsure what "ballet" and "student" meant, but deciding from her tone that it meant she was not an angel. Before finding out exactly what she had meant, however, he decided to find out where he was. "Where's here?"

She looked around herself in glorious wonder. "The current home of the Opera," she whispered. "Or one of the rooms underneath the Opera, at any rate."

He had heard of the Opera at least and informed her as much.

She gazed at his face until he met her eyes, never having known someone to stare at him so long without either sneering laughter or repulsion. "Do you have a name?"

He blinked and said the name his mother had given him along with his mask. "Ugly."

She winced. "That's not a name."

An idea occurred to him. "What's a name then? Can you give me one?"

"Erik is a nice name, for example," she explained.

"Erik," he repeated. "I like that name."

"Are you hungry?" she asked.

"What's 'hungry'?"

She gaped at him in confusion. "Hungry is when you want food."

He nodded. "Yes. I'm hungry."

She got up.

"Where are you going?" he stared at her.

"To get food for you."

"Will I see you again?"

She nodded. "I'll be back within an hour."

After she left, he looked around the room at the various pieces of furniture and things he couldn't even begin to name. He knew he was sitting on a bed. He knew Marguerite had been sitting on a chair. And he knew the surface in between them was a table.

However, beyond that, he didn't know what anything here was. There was a person out of something white and powdery.

There were candles all around resting in candleholders whose arms reached together at the base. One of these candleholders had all its candles lit.

There were painted pictures of people resting up against something covered in a sheet.

Even upon holding the sheet up, he couldn't say what the object underneath was except that it was black other than white movable boxes interspaced with smaller black ones. He pressed one of the white ones and jumped back. A loud noise had come from inside it. He pressed more of these and heard different tones come out of each of them. He pulled out a chair that was under the object and pressed all of these white boxes from end to end, followed by all of the black boxes, followed by both white and black boxes all the way from end to end.

Then, he heard a noise up above and stopped unless whoever it was should hear him and return him to the circus. At this thought, he became suddenly scared and wondered if maybe Marguerite had lied about returning. The thought scared him so much that he looked for the burlap monkey with tiny metal cymbals he had made. He found it stuffed between the wall and the bed and ran to it, clutching it and sitting back down on the bed.

She was back within thirty minutes and set a slice of bread and some stew in front of him. He gazed from her to the food and back to her in shock. She misunderstood his gaze. "I apologize that it's not much, but I'll be able to get you more later."

"It's more than I've ever seen at one time before! Can I eat it?"

She nodded. "It's for you."

He set about to devour the feast.

She was gazing at him again as he ate, so as he finished, he turned to her.

"You have a nice voice," she said in explanation of her stare.

He started then realized he didn't understand what she was saying, although the tone sounded like the same kindness she had been using. "What's nice?" he asked.

"Nice is not ugly," she explained.

Vaguely, he remembered something his mother had taught him when he was old enough to begin talking. "Thank you," he whispered. He guessed he had said the right thing when a smile appeared on her face. Like her laugh, it was soft… nice.

"You have a nice laugh and a nice smile."

She chuckled at him again, returning the "thank you."

"Earlier, you said something about something called 'ballet'," he questioned her.

"Ballet," she said, getting up and showing first to sixth position with demi-plié. By the end, he had gotten up too and was imitating her.

"Who taught you?" she said, stopping.

"Taught?"

She sighed upon realizing there were a lot of words he did not know. "Where did you learn to do that?"

"I do what you do," he figured that this was the closet thing to what she wanted.

"You're graceful for someone who's never heard of ballet."

He beamed, knowing she was giving him a compliment. "Thank you." An idea occurred to him. "Can you do more so I can learn?"

She blinked at him in confusion. "Do you want me to teach you?"

He nodded, having figured that teach much mean the opposite of learn.

"Oh…" she exclaimed. "I don't really know enough to teach you, but there are rafters above the stage and if you hide there during our ballet lesson, I'm sure you could watch. And if anybody sees you, you can just say you're Old Gautier's son. He has so many nobody would ever question you."

"Should I where my face-cover?"

She peered at her feet, trying to decide. "If you want," she finally said.

He snatched at his burlap sack so fast she didn't notice for the first few second it was in his hands. When she saw it there, clasped between his fingers, she sighed. "Do you want a real mask?"

He looked at the sack in his hand and stood up. "What's a mask?"

She peered at him again. "Were you always so inquisitive?"

He nodded. "I ask as many questions as if I can get out. Isabelle – the woman with the beard – usually answers them when I do."

She thought back on where she had helped him escape from, and she sat forward, hands clasped with her curiosity peaked. "What was it like in the circus? Did you have to stay in that horrible cage the whole time?"

He shook his head. "I got out sometimes. Master Namir tried to keep me in my cage, but I always got out, and it frightened him. He fell asleep, and I'd grab his keys and go ask Isabelle questions or watch the Babette and Belle practice their show. They are beautiful to watch. When Master Namir woke up, he dragged me back." He paused.

Into the silence, she asked, "Is Master Namir the man you killed?"

He nodded.

"Why did you kill him?" she half-accused.

"He hurt me. He made the people laugh at me. He wouldn't let me keep on my mask."

She inched back. "But now you won't go to heaven!"

He tipped his head in confusion.

"Don't you know what heaven is?"

He shook his head.

"It's where all the angels live!" she exclaimed, still half in shock.

He looked around the room then at her and smiled. "Is this heaven?"

"Shh!" She pressed her hand over his mouth. "Don't speak such blasphemy!"

He blinked at her, having gotten over the shock of her touch.

"I will try not to," he said once she brought her hand away.

She nodded and smiled at this promise.

"Won't you miss them, Isabelle and the twins?" she asked after a moment.

He shook his head. "Not at all. Can I go out of here?"

She considered for a moment. "Yes. If anybody sees you, say your Old Gautier's son and there shouldn't be a problem."

He beamed. "And should I bring my face-cover?"

She looked around. "There has to be something better than your old burlap sack to cover you face with. All this stuff is from… Ah. Here it is!" She picked up a fitted face-cover. "This is a mask. You can wear it instead of the burlap if you go out."

"A mask…" he whispered as he took it, staring at it. It had a smile for a mouth and was whiter than the small boxes on the tone player. It had eye-holes cut in it and a small hole for the nose. He held it up to his face and gazed through it.

"Do you want me to tie it for you?" she asked.

He nodded, and she did.

"Now you can get it on and off." She gazed around the room again and came back with a surface through which he could she himself in the mask. "This is a mirror. Take a look."

He did and smiled. "I like it. No face." He gestured at his own face.

"Now you can explore, but I have to be getting back up for ballet lessons. Will you be all right?"

He nodded.

"I'll be back later."

He nodded again. She opened the door and began to leave.

"Wait!" he called after her, remembering something he had forgotten to ask. "What's that?" he pointed at the thing with the moving boxes.

Her gaze followed his finger. "That's a piano. Can you play anything?"

He stared.

"I apologize. I forgot you don't know certain words. You can make music with it if you'd like to."

Then she was gone before he had opened his mouth to ask her what "music" was. He hugged his burlap monkey to his chest and gazed at the mask in the mirror.