A/N: This was a difficult chapter to write, and I still feel that the end is a little rushed, but I couldn't think of any way to salvage it so we will just have to accept it, flaws and all. The chapter we've all been waiting for! It just so happens to be lucky number chapter 13 haha.

Many thanks to Kalaia, Rogers-comics & jigokunooujo for the favourites/follows!

Savannah White: Ooh, I'd love the link! Your long wait is finally over! Haha

Wild Concerto: Puppy faces always work! Teehee. Aww Christine won't be that bad!

Masked Man 2: I always feel like I base Erik too much off the heroes in the romance novels I read, but I'm so glad you like him that way! Hehe.

Pineapple3000: Flutter flutter! Here is the long awaited chapter!

Anonymous: Thank you! I'm so glad you like it.

Chapter 13: Tea with the Opera Ghost

Paris, 1893

When the phantom emerged from the room behind the dining table, he was carrying a plate in each hand, the first one carrying the chocolate croissants that Amélie had brought, and the second laden with small sandwiches. He set these down on the table, then disappeared into the room, presumably the kitchen, again, and reappeared with a steaming teapot and some teacups. He poured a generous amount of tea into each cup, and then gestured for her to sit.

"Your tea awaits you, mademoiselle." He said gallantly. Amélie beamed at him as she sat herself down at one end of the table. He moved himself to the opposite end, shifting the plates to the middle of the table. "I was not sure of what you like, so I simply made some sandwiches."

"Oh, I'm not a picky eater." Amélie reached for one, examining the contents. "I eat just about anything that's put before me. Oh, isn't this roast chicken and cucumber? I don't remember buying any for you during my last trip…?" She trailed off as she realized that she was yet again asking a question. "Oh. I'm sorry, that was another question. You don't have to answer that."

To her great surprise, he laughed. It was a small, short laugh, but it sounded very genuine, and Amélie looked at him in amazement. His laugh sounded warm and inviting, rather unlike his usual behaviour. The laugh ended as quickly as it had come, and Amélie found herself quite missing the rich timbre of the laugh.

"Indeed that was a question, mademoiselle. However, I will answer it. I do go out to the shops by myself. I prefer not to, but there are times when I am in urgent need of food or other items, and I make a trip to the shops late in the evening just before they are about to close." He said amiably, trying to bite into his sandwich with a little difficulty, as part of the mask obstructed him. Amélie was about to ask him to take it off it made eating difficult, but she recalled his dislike of mentioning the mask, and hurriedly refrained from telling him. He had removed his gloves to eat, and she kept herself from staring at the scars on his wrist, though she was curious.

When he took up his teacup to drink his tea, Amélie realized that she had neglected hers. She lifted the cup to her lips, but upon her first sip, immediately spluttered and struggled to swallow the strong brew. She coughed hastily, wiping her mouth, and noticed the corners of the phantom's lips turning up in a smirk. He was laughing at her. She stared at him indignantly.

"The tea is not to your liking, mademoiselle?" He sanguinely drank more tea. Amélie stared at him.

"Is that even tea, monsieur?" She lifted the teacup again to attempt another taste, before sticking out her tongue in distaste and setting it back down again.

"The taste grows on you. It's my favourite Russian tea." He told her leisurely. "I have other types of tea, mademoiselle, if you wish?"

Amélie realized from the small smirk that still remained on his face that this was his way of getting back at her for coercing him to invite her to his house. He could have very well served her the tea she was used to at the start, but he had chosen to serve her this strange tasting drink that could not have possibly passed off as her normal tea.

"No, I'll drink it." Her tone was defiant, and he raised an eyebrow skeptically. Amélie fixed him with her best death-glare – learnt from Madame Giry—and drank the contents of the cup in one gulp, wincing slightly at the strong taste. He looked slightly impressed, but said nothing else.

The two ate in companionable silence for a while. It did not feel awkward or strange, but rather comforting, as they devoured the sandwiches and croissants. Amélie noticed that the ghost did not eat much, but he did seem to enjoy the chocolate croissants very much. She would remember to buy more of them the next time she had extra money to spend.

Amélie broke the silence first with a question. She could not help it, as the ghost was such a mystery that every part of her was dying to find out something more about him. "Monsieur… may I ask you one question? Just one question about yourself?"

He frowned. "I told you I dislike questions. However, I will humour you. What is it?"

"I just want to find out more about the mysterious Opera Ghost who has everyone quaking in their boots, monsieur." She said charmingly. "Just tell me about yourself."

"That's not even a question, mademoiselle. That is a very vague, very general statement. What exactly would you like to know about me? One question."

"Oh, I don't know… I didn't come prepared with a list of questions." She cast her mind about, trying to think of something to ask, and then brightened up when she latched onto the most ridiculous question she had ever thought of. "Oh, monsieur! You can tell me about your first love."

He visibly balked. "What?"

"It's just a silly question, really. The ballet rats have been swooning over the newest romance novel in the bookstores, and they were sharing stories about their first loves. It just makes me curious." She shrugged. "So, what about yours, monsieur?"

"I don't have a first love." He said rather faintly. "Now, why don't you—"

His attempt to change the topic was foiled by her. "Nonsense, monsieur! Justine said that everyone has a first love. You must have one! After all, you're much older than we are."

He raised his eyebrows. "Oh, Justine did, did she? And suddenly Justine is an expert on love…" If Erik recalled correctly, Justine was a ballet rat who shared Amélie's room, with a tendency to put more effort into flirting with the stagehands than her dancing, much to Antoinette's chagrin. He made a mental note to leave a couple of spiders in Justine's bed that night.

She continued as though she had not heard him speak. "Indeed, I believe that you're just shy, monsieur. I'll tell you about my first love, and then you can tell me about yours." She declared boldly. He sighed, but leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest, and she took that as permission to continue.

"He was my friend, my first love. I barely remember him, really. It's all quite silly but… Well, I hardly remember my childhood, but I have vague memories of a boy who used to tell me stories when I was a child. He was warm and gentle, and his stories, oh, they were amazing. They brought me to far-off fantasy worlds with magic and castles and all the things a little girl could ever dream of seeing. I was happy. Then one day he disappeared, and he never came back. I was heartbroken at that time." Amélie said dreamily. "But there, you have it, the story of my first love. I do hope you feel honoured, monsieur, for I've never told anyone about this before, not even when the ballet rats pestered me to let them know."

Erik was sitting frozen in his chair, visibly paler than before. He had shifted his hands down to his lap, and his fists were clenched upon his knees below the table. He was not sure how to respond to her story. Does she mean… me? No, she can't possibly mean me.

He forced himself to laugh awkwardly. "Is that so, mademoiselle? It sounds like a rather sad story."

"Perhaps," she said dully, "the ending is sad, but the times spent together before he left were the happiest times I can remember of my childhood in the opera house. But maybe it is time to bury these ghosts of the past and move on with my life."

He did not know how to reply to that, and merely kept silent, sipping his tea. He maintained his calm facade, but inside, his mind was swirling with tumultuous thoughts of what she had just said. Erik decided that he had to stay away from her in the future. I cannot risk her realizing who I am. She will only be disappointed when she realizes that her 'first love' is nothing more than a demon.

When they had finished their tea, Erik stood, clearing the plates from the table. Amélie made a move to help, but he waved her away, gathering up all the cutlery and crockery and bringing them to the kitchen.

"Our tea is over, mademoiselle. I believe that it is time I return you back to the dormitories." He said formally. Amélie frowned at his sudden coldness.

"Will I see you again, monsieur?"

"No, I don't think so-" He began, but, undeterred, Amélie grabbed his hand and shook it vigorously and firmly.

"It was enchanting getting to meet you, monsieur. I hope to see you again." She said. He quickly withdrew his hand, but could not forget the lingering feeling of her hand in his own, without the barrier of his leather gloves.

He silently brought her back across the lake. Amélie sat back in the boat, enjoying the relaxing sounds of rippling water as the gondola swept through the lake. When they arrived back at the opposite shore, he led her back through the twisting tunnels, to the secret door in the wall of the chapel.

"I trust that you can find your own way back from here, mademoiselle." With a swish of his black cloak, he was gone, leaving behind only a faint scent of cologne. Amélie stood in the darkness for a few moments, taking in the events that had just happened. She had just had tea with the Opera Ghost. The notion was so ridiculous that Amélie could not help but laugh out loud.

Throughout the remainder of the day, Amélie wondered if the afternoon's events had been but a figment of her imagination. After all, who would have imagined that beneath the Palais Garnier stood a magnificent house, surrounded by a gargantuan lake of clear water? It was the stuff of the lurid gothic novels that were so popular amongst young ladies. In fact, Amélie felt as though she had just stepped out of one of those very novels.

She was distracted throughout dinnertime thinking of the Opera Ghost, trying to deduce why he was so mysterious, or why he would choose to live beneath the opera house. Meg noticed that the usually cheerful Amélie was broody and thoughtful, and attempted to cheer her up by making silly faces at her. Amélie was so deeply engrossed in her thoughts that she barely noticed Meg.

"Really, Amélie! Where in the world is your head! It seems as though you're all up in the clouds today!" Meg waved her hand vigorously before Amélie's face. Amélie gave a start.

"Oh, Meg. I'm sorry, I didn't notice. I was thinking of something else." Amélie sighed, putting her fork down. Meg leaned forward curiously.

"What are you thinking of, then?"

"It's nothing really…" Amélie said, but could not resist teasing. "Nothing that a little girl like you would understand, of course." I'm just thinking about the Opera Ghost, and exactly why he chose to haunt this opera house, and who he really is. It was frustrating not having someone to confide in, but Amélie doubted that she could go running along to Madame Giry to ask her about it. Madame Giry would be horrified that she had actually visited the Opera Ghost's house; Amélie was certain that Madame Giry would disapprove heartily.

Meg frowned. "I'm not that little. Unless you're thinking of a man, in which case I wouldn't be of any help." She narrowed her eyes at Amélie. "It's a man, isn't it?"

"Of course not." Amélie ruffled Meg's hair. "At least I'm thankful that you haven't had any experience in affairs of the heart yet. It's going to be a few more years until you go around breaking hearts."

Meg scoffed, and Amélie smiled back at her a little distractedly, her mind still filled with thoughts about the Opera Ghost.

XXXXX

And in the end, it was Amélie's damnable curiousity that allowed her to meet the Opera Ghost once more. A couple of weeks had passed since her first visit, with each week's grocery basket bearing a letter from her asking if she could visit again, only to be replied with a curt rejection. The Opera Ghost apparently valued his privacy very much. Amélie sighed as she made her way to the quiet chapel after lunch one day. She was bored from the ballet rats' inane chatter, and desperately needed to find a peaceful place.

Amélie strolled around the chapel. It was dark, with dusty streams of sunlight filtering in from the stained glass windows around the domed ceiling. She stopped at the wall where she had first met the phantom. It looked like just any other ordinary wall, and she frowned as she contemplated the solid brick, wondering how he had managed to open the secret passageway. She ran her hands over it cautiously, her fingers trailing over the rough brick, searching inquisitively for anything that could reveal the secret to the passageway.

It took her five whole attempts of searching the brick wall, but finally, on the fifth attempt, her fingers caught on a little button around her waist level. She bent to look at the wall, and found that a small brick had been marked with a cross, so small and faint that anybody would have missed it had they had not been looking intently at that very point. Amélie held her breath as she pressed down onto the button.

And slowly, slowly, the wall creaked and moved, to reveal a gaping hole. The passageway!

Amélie threw all caution to the wind and stepped into the passageway, wishing that she had had the sense to bring along a lantern of some sorts. She thrust her hands outward, trying to determine which way she was going.

It took many stumbles, trips, and scrapes, but by some trick of chance, or some sort of miracle, Amélie actually managed to end up at the opening of the tunnel which led to the lake, covered in scrapes and cobwebs. Pausing to catch her breath with her hands on her knees, she contemplated the lake silently. It was still as beautiful as ever, and again Amélie marveled at the fact that there was actually a lake beneath the opera house. The only problem now, however would be how she was to get across the lake. Oh, and of course the issue of what happens when the phantom finds me in his house… The gondola stood, silently, ominously, against the still waters, like a predator awaiting its hapless prey. Dare I try…?

With great hesitancy, Amélie made her way to the gondola, and loosened the knot of the rope tethering it to the shore. She wondered if the fact that the gondola was not at the opposite shore meant that the phantom was not at home. As she pushed the boat of the shore, she unsteadily leaped into the boat, giving a loud squeal as it rocked from side to side dangerously. Her squeal echoed around the cavern, bouncing off the walls and coming back at her tenfold from all directions. Amélie shuddered. It was creepy.

She picked up the oar and carefully pushed it through the water.

The boat moved about an inch.

She stared at the unmoving waters, frustrated. Gritting her teeth and mustering all her strength, she tried again to push the gondola through the waters, muttering unladylike curses under her breath.

By the time Amélie had passed three quarters of the lake, her arms were aching and she was cursing her own bad decision for having attempted this ludicrous mission. A bead of sweat made its way down the side of her face as she forced her heavy arms to yet again drive the oar through the water.

Unfortunately for Amélie, she had miscalculated the amount of strength she had to use, and as such, the force she exerted caused the boat to rock precariously to the side. Amélie shrieked in horror as she tried to right the boat. The boat tipped, and with a great splash, Amélie went overboard.

A/N: Please read/review/favourite/follow/let me know what you think! xx hazel