Oh yeh, here we go everyone! The Phantom returns to his Opera House! Thanks everyone for your encouragement and sweet reviews, they really keep me going! Almost sad to realise we'll only have a few more chapters to go... (pouts) Enjoy it while it lasts and keep that feedback coming! -x- Lotte.

"You're late."

Thérèse Béthany Valmont seemed as put out by tardiness as her grandmother had always been, and Erik half expected her to wave her cane at them. She looked around nervously, making sure they had not been followed before ushering them inside and quickly closing the rusty old gate behind them.

They had agreed to meet at the anonymous, withered old entrance of the Rue Scribe. A door long forgotten in an alley no one desired to visit except perhaps those with a death wish or a need for female companionship. Erik had mentioned he had lost its key long ago, to which Thérèse had merely replied she would be there waiting for them. And so she had been. She had used a simple hairpin to pick the lock, and she quickly tucked it back into her chignon while walking back into the building in front of them. The scrape of a match against paper could be heard before the gentle light of a lantern appeared in her hand.

"Forgive me, I did not mean to be rude. It's just that I'll be in terrible trouble should I be late for my rehearsals you know."

"We understand. Thank you for your time beforehand Madem…Teresa."

Luca quickly corrected himself under her scrutinising stare. She had made it quite clear she thought it utterly silly for two people of the same age to address each other so formally, and had insisted on a first name basis. Monsieur Alighieri seemed to have bestowed her mother's old nickname on her and because of his somewhat intimidating composure she decided to let it pass. She noticed again how Luca had Italianated her name and was secretly charmed by it. Although fluent in his grammar and vocabulary, his accent was dreadfully foreign. But who would address such a matter when it made him sound so…sensual?

"I assure you it's no problem at all. Right then, off we go."

As she spun away from them again they noticed how she had pulled a pair of thick woolen socks over her ballet slippers so as not to have them ruined by the damp and muddy hallways they were now to pass. As they walked on mainly in silence, Luca admiringly took in the grandeur of the structure he had only recently learned to be his father's. Erik felt almost eerie at returning to this place. The structure had been damaged, true. It was clear some alterations had been made to accommodate for new, and better ventilated storage rooms. But it took little immagination to remember the way it had been before, and he hardly even noticed his steps becoming quicker and more certain the lower they descended down the cellars.

Luca and Thérèse were following him by now, shooting nervous glances across. Thérèse was more than a little impressed at actually descending these halls at the guidance of the Opera Ghost himself, whereas Luca was only just beginning to learn about his father's past.

They must be eight to ten metres below street level by now and though impressed, the boy could not help but wonder how his father, who seemed so used to comfort and luxury, could have abided to live down such a place so long. If his purpose had been to lock out the world entirely, he had for sure been successful.

Suddenly Erik bent down before them, touching the ground carefully before muttering to himself. "Removed. Very well, we will remedy that." He turned around at the children, and seemed transformed already. He obviously felt none of their reserve or insecurity and appeared to have gone back 25 years in time altogether. "Come, the traps have been removed here, it is safe to cross now." He stepped over a missing stone easily, where it took Luca a near jump to accomplish the same, holding out his hand again to Thérèse.

"Can you jump?"

As he caught her incredulous look he already scolded himself, she was after all a ballerina. She gracefully leaped across before slightly loosing her balance and landing somewhat unceremoniously into Luca's strong arms. He nearly jumped at the contact, quickly setting her back on her feet before shooting her an uncomfortable glance and continuing his way beside her.

Their journey was a long one, and a quick enquiry with Thérèse taught Luca they had to travel all the way round to the south wing of the building in order to reach the lair without having to cross the lake. "The managers unfortunately do not have an equally good purpose for a boat down there as your father once had."

Upon seeing him glance behind she gave him a cautious smile: "You…did have a boat once, did you not? I have stood at that lakeshore so many times, knowing it must surely be a much quicker road if only one had a boat to row across. Personally I can't really understand how the lake should still be there in the first place, I mean…with such highly developed techniques of water drainage one would immagine they could have pumped that water out by now…"

When Luca merely gave her an annoyed smirk and turned to continue, she realised she must have said something truly ignorant, however his father seemed more patient than his stern appearance betrayed.

"Every truly magnificent Opera in the world has its lake, little Giry. Not only does it work wonders for the structure of the building, but it enhances the purity of sounds above as well. I would have to kill the engineer who would one day decide to drain it, as you proposed." Upon seeing her smiling face suddenly frown in nervous tension he realised she did not comprehend his dry humor like his son did, and quickly changed the subject.

"Are you not cold, ma petite? I suppose the damp soil chills you feet, n'est-ce pas?"

To his surprise she let out a soft chuckle. "This sand actually feels nice under my feet. Like…walking on a beach I suppose. Wouldn't you say Luca?"

"I wouldn't know, the beaches in Venezia have only rocks, no sand." She frowned at his somewhat grumpy remark and wondered what could have altered his mood so. Surely he was not so shallow as to blame her for her ignorance on the subject of architecture? She had no time to ponder the subject any further however, as she heard Erik take in a deep breath and realised they had reached the South entrance to the once infamous Phantom's Lair.

"Dear God…" A certain sense of calm spread through him as he aimlessly wandered around the place. His house by the lake, once bathing in light and luxury, now seemed as dark and gloomy as his soul had once been. Or perhaps it had always been this way he wondered. Perhaps this was how Christine had perceived it all along, triggering her fear of the dark. And of him. Shaking the thought from his head he quietly continued, hardly noticing the two adolescents trotting in behind him.

The place had obviously been stripped bare, everything of value had been taken out and had hopefully found its way into other people's homes to be enjoyed. What remained where some old drapes, pieces of shattered mirror glass, withered sheets of paper and a few blankets that had most likely been left there in later years. All in all the space was still suitable for residence, if only for a short period this time.

He turned around at Thérèse, who seemed to be attempting to catch his son's attention, who in turn seemed to try his utmost to avoid eye contact with the pretty ballerina.

"I think this will do. We will be needing some supplies of course, food, candles…"

Shaken from her reverie she nodded at him. "Of course, I could bring you a basket after my classes have ended, that would be about two hours from now."

"The other exits? I'm assuming the northern side, when crossed by a boat of sorts, is still open?"

Again a nod. "It is Monsieur. And there is a third road in the back leading out to the stables and eventually the Rue Malmaison, I suppose you have used this road for your…escape after the fire? Oh, and further up north there is a path leading away from the main staircase, branching off so to speak. It seems to be running towards the dormitories and costume department, however it seems to have no exit there. Just a solid cement wall, is all."

Erik winced inwardly, Marie was right then about the mirror. This road would have been very useful indeed to spy on the ballet rats and Roger's intentions towards them. Perhaps the error could be corrected, as he would his traps. This building was still the very child of his immagination after all, and the fact that some ignorant youths had decided to pry and prod around it did not mean he would forego a final say in the matter of its design. And with an architect as brilliant as Luca by his side the task would prove even easier.

"Very well, merci Thérèse. I trust you will know your way back up? I would hate for you to get lost or miss your training at our expense…"

"I will go through the stables Monsieur, that is how I usually travel in any case. The road is broad and well paved that way. The stable boys know my love of horses and think nothing of finding me there on occasion."

She looked from one to the other once more, content in receiving at least a nod from Luca's direction before turning, lighting a second candle from the lantern and carefully making her way upstairs.

As his father began pacing about, improvising some sort of a comfortable residence for the time being, Luca felt himself turn slightly numb. Of course his father had heard him shiver.

"Luca, are you alright?" He nodded slowly, looking around once more.

"This silence father, the darkness, it's almost…"

"Maddening?" He was shocked to find his father finishing the sentence he had been reluctant to utter.

"My boy, I do not know how much your dear mother has told you of my life here, but I can assure you I was far from sane in those years. Until one voice in the darkness lured me back into the light. An angelically light and tender voice, holding the promise of a great career, one I would be able to give birth to. A little girl by the name of Christine Daaé entered this building and carried her radiant warmth down into this very cellar."

He paused momentarily, a small smile passing his lips as if the memory of his beloved warmed him on the spot. It must be a rare and special thing indeed, Luca figured, to find the love of one's life and never forsake it again.

"That is what kept me at ease here Luca. The melodies she planted in my head, that saved me from the silence and pierced the very darkness we will soon be plunged back into should we not find some means to light and warm this room. Now let's start our preparations, we will make sure Mademoiselle Thérèse will find a warm welcome upon her return."

With a start Luca realised the hole his father was pointing at was in fact a fireplace, beautifully carved in rock, and so they gathered the few inflammable bits they could find to enjoy a comforting fire.