A/N: New chapter! Boy, we're moving along at a snail's pace, aren't we? There are still going to be quite a few chapters before Christine comes into the picture, I feel like I'm dragging it out too much though. There's just so much to be written! The title this week comes from a Taylor Swift song that I like haha.

Savannah White: Well hopefully the new chapters chase away those Monday blues! Aww, Christine won't be that bad!

Masked Man 2: Thank you for the follow, it is much appreciated! Amelie remembers things like how her friend told her stories, and the emotions involved, but I'm afraid she can't remember things like what he looked like exactly. I do love suspenseful endings! -evil grin-

Wild Concerto: I know XD The things she gets herself into...

Spirit of the Opera: Thank you so much for always checking back and reading anyway (:

Pineapple3000: I'm glad it made you laugh! Haha.

icanhearthedrums: Erik's not gonna be too pleased to find somebody in his lake... hahaha. Mmmm chocolate croissants.

Chapter 14: Begin Again

Paris, 1893

Erik had just entered his house through a passageway from the Rue Scribe when he heard a distinctly feminine shriek. He frowned and shook his head. He had to be hallucinating, as it was impossible for anybody at all to have reached his caverns. When the shriek was followed by a loud splash, he almost dropped his parcels in alarm. He cautiously set the parcels down on a nearby table, and made his way slowly toward the lake, fingering his Punjab lasso within his pocket with ready hands. Whoever it was would not make it out alive.

He was not prepared to be met with the sight of a sopping wet ballet rat, her bronze hair plastered unbecomingly to her head and all over her face, and her dress soaked and dripping. Had Erik been a lesser man, he might have let out a scream befitting that of a female. Thankfully, he managed to control his surprise. The person before him resembled something like a monster emerging from the murky depths of a water body, not that his lake was murky. Erik looked at the Punjab lasso within his hands, wondering if he should be using it, when the ballet rat opened her mouth to give a loud gasp.

"Oh, monsieur!" She squeaked. "I thought you were not home!"

He recognized that voice. "Oh, you thought, did you? Did I not warn you before, that my house is not open to others!"

Amélie felt goose bumps rise over her skin from the onslaught of his roar, the usually melodic voice now harsh and cold. She attempted to give a curtsey, despite her wet clothes and shivering body. "I'm sorry, monsieur. I was just curious—"

"Curious indeed! I don't think you will be curious any longer when your pretty neck is being held tightly by the Punjab!" He snarled, stalking forward and grabbing her wrist. Amélie gave a loud yowl at his tight grip and tried to break free, but his leather-clad hand was like a manacle around her wrist. "I have traps set all over my passageways, mademoiselle, traps meant to deter nosy intruders from entering my house. You can count yourself lucky that you somehow managed to evade the traps I set inside that particular passageway, and managed to arrive here with nothing more than wet clothes! If you try this again, you should be prepared for much worse."

"Much… worse?" Amélie was shivering slightly. He bared his teeth at her in a gruesome smirk.

"A broken leg, scrapes, deep cuts… much worse indeed." He said grimly. "Perhaps this will prevent you from attempting to enter my house again, mademoiselle."

Amélie opened her mouth to speak, but she was cut off by a loud sneeze. The ghost made a very disgruntled sound, and, still gripping her wrist, led her to the fireplace. He bent to strike up a fire from the dying embers, and with a stern glare at her, disappeared into his room. He emerged carrying a stack of clothing in his hands, which he handed to her rather ungraciously.

"You intrude my privacy, contaminate my lake, and now I have to lend you my clothes. This is a debt that I will not forget, mademoiselle." He scowled at her. Amélie accepted the clothing humbly. He gestured to one of the empty bedrooms, and she practically dashed into one in relief, glad to be away from his piercing stare.

In the room, Amélie shook out the clothes and sighed, berating herself silently for even having entertained the silly idea of trying to reach the Opera Ghost's house on her own. She had grossly breached his trust in allowing her to visit him once, and rudely infringed on his privacy. She awkwardly removed her wet dress, deciding to leave her damp chemise and undergarments on, and pulled on the dry clothes he had given her after doing her best to soak up the water in her hair with the towel he had placed on top of the clothes. The white shirt hung loosely on her shoulders, and she ran her hair ribbon through the belt loops of the pants, creating a makeshift belt. She rolled up the hems of the pants as they were far too long for her.

She left the room with her wet dress in her hands, her hair still slightly damp. The ghost straightened up from where he had been placing a cup of hot tea on a table before the fire, and fixed her with another fierce glare. Amélie bowed her head sheepishly.

"Monsieur, I—"

"You're sorry, yes, I heard it the first time. Enough already!" He snapped irritably. "Drink this before you catch the cold of your life and I have yet another life upon my hands!" He thrust the cup at her roughly, almost spilling the steaming contents. She accepted it gratefully, and daintily perching on the edge of the couch so as to lessen the amount of water she was depositing on the fabric, she raised the cup to her lips. The hot tea entered her mouth with a rush of welcomed warmth, soothing and scalding at the same time. She gulped it down quickly.

As she set the cup down upon the table, there came a ringing sound from somewhere in the house. The phantom jumped up with a start, and immediately grabbed Amélie's arm, pulling her off the couch. Amélie spluttered in surprise, barely managing to place the cup back onto the table, and tried to escape his grip, but he was dragging her toward one of the empty rooms in his house, a determined expression upon the exposed side of his face.

"Monsieur! What's going on!" She again attempted to wrench her arm from his grasp. He tightened his grip and clapped a hand over her mouth.

"Keep quiet!"

She batted his hand away. "Where do you think you're bringing me? Let me go at once!"

"Keep quiet, I said! You need to stay in this room until—"

His whispered warning was cut off by a very distinct, very familiar voice. Amélie's face drained of colour as she heard the voice echo through the room. She felt the phantom's hand tense around her arm as both of them froze in the doorway.

"Erik, I followed your instructions and tried disabling the traps on my way down; all the traps worked well except for the one right before the third turn, I think you'll have to oil that lever…" The owner of the voice emerged from a secret passageway through one of the walls, pushing open a door and stepping into the room, blinking to adjust her eyes to the light. It was a very familiar figure in her long, dull black dress, with her blond hair pulled into a tight bun. Amélie bit back a gasp in surprise.

Antoinette brushed the dust off her skirt distastefully, flicking a cobweb off her sleeve. She looked around the room, wondering why Erik had not replied to her with one of his usual caustic remarks.

Amélie stared at Madame Giry, watching as Madame Giry scanned the room with her sharp eyes, before her gaze landed on Amélie and Erik, pressed against the doorway of one of the rooms. She swallowed nervously as Madame Giry's eyes widened at the sight of Amélie, her hair damp, and dressed in man's clothes. It took Madame Giry a few moments to register that one of her ballet rats, and not just that, the ballet rat she had brought up, was standing in the home of the Opera Ghost, wearing what was quite obviously not her own clothes.

Then all hell broke loose.

"What in God's name is going on here?" Madame Giry roared, in a tone that could have frozen hell over. "What—why—Amélie, explain this situation right now! Or you, Erik!"

She marched over to where the pair stood, still frozen in shock, and yanked Amélie's arm out of the phantom's grasp with a formidable strength that seemed unlikely for a slim woman like Madame Giry to possess. Amélie gaped at the sight of Madame Giry. She had known that Madame Giry knew the Opera Ghost, but had not expected her to be on such good terms with him. Sneaking a quick glance at said Opera Ghost, she realized that he was equally slack-jawed at the sight of Madame Giry.

"Well?" Madame Giry demanded, banging her cane imperiously on the floor. "Will one of you explain this to me, and not stare at me with your mouths wide open like the fools that you are?"

There was silence. Madame Giry banged her cane again, and both Amélie and the Opera Ghost opened their mouths to speak, their words coming out jumbled with each other's. Madame Giry held up a stern hand. "One by one, if you please. May we all sit down civilly and discuss this, Erik?" She stalked toward the dining table and sat herself down, dragging Amélie along with her and pushing Amélie into the seat next to her. The Opera Ghost sighed and very unwillingly followed Madame Giry to the table, where he took the seat opposite her.

"Amélie-Rose, what in the world is going on here?" Madame Giry demanded again. Amélie gulped; Madame Giry only used her full name when she was furious with her. When her lack of an answer dragged for too long, Madame Giry hit the table with her palm, making even the Opera Ghost jump. "Amélie-Rose! I have told you time, and yet time again, not to ask me any more questions about the Opera Ghost, and what do I find now? I find you in the home of a man whom you do not even know! The home of the Opera Ghost! What are you doing down here?"

"Madame, I—I was curious, and I just wanted to see the Opera Ghost's house so I decided to…" Amélie broke off, a little embarrassed at how ridiculous she sounded. Madame Giry fixed her with a stern stare before turning to the Opera Ghost.

"And you, Erik, pray tell what were you doing to Amélie when I arrived? I believe it is rather uncommon for me to see you manhandling one of my ballet rats. After all, you're not a stagehand."

The Opera Ghost actually turned a little red. He fumbled with his long elegant fingers on the surface of the table, apparently unable to come up with an answer for Madame Giry. Madame Giry raised an eyebrow questioningly, giving him that death stare Amélie had seen many times before. It always worked on ballet rats.

Apparently it worked on the Opera Ghost too. He coughed awkwardly. "You caught me by surprise, Antoinette. I did not want you to realize one of your ballet rats had been traipsing around my house. I attempted to hide her in one of the rooms, but she put up some resistance and you arrived before I could— for lack of a better word— shove her inside one of the rooms."

Madame Giry looked highly unconvinced. She turned to Amélie, expecting her to confirm the story the Opera Ghost had just said. Amélie nodded. "It's true, Madame. Oh, this is all my own fault! I decided to come down here by myself, and the Opera Ghost has been nothing but gentlemanly toward me. He is quite, quite unlike the stagehands!" She nodded fervently and clasped her hands together to prove her point. Madame Giry looked a little amused, but her eyes narrowed again.

"You decided to come down here by yourself? How did you know how to get down here?"

Erik groaned silently. Antoinette had always been a sharp one; sometimes, he felt that she would have done a much better job than he had as an assassin in Persia.

"Ah… I fear that may have been a fault of my own, Antoinette. I invited her down for tea."

If Madame Giry had looked unconvinced earlier, her face was now screwed up in disgust at the ludicrousness of the Opera Ghost's statement. Amélie hastened to defend the Opera Ghost, but the moment her words left her mouth, she realized that it only added to how ridiculous the whole story sounded.

"Madame! That was my own fault too. I threatened not to buy the sweets he wanted if he refused to allow me to see him," she quickly said.

Madame Giry just stared at the two of them. "I, for one, am not making any sense of what the two of you are saying. One of you had better tell me everything from the start, or else." Her silent threat was enough to make Amélie splutter up a satisfactory response for her.

When she was done with her brief recount, Madame Giry frowned. "Well, I cannot say that I am too pleased with you for disobeying my orders to drop the subject of the Opera Ghost, Amélie. However, what is done cannot be changed." She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I do not want you to come down here any longer, Amélie. Is that clear?"

"Oh, but madame!" Amélie cried, dismayed. "I like this place!"

"At the expense of infringing on someone else's privacy." Madame Giry reminded her. Amélie hung her head, a little chastised.

"But… what if monsieur allows me to visit, then? Will I be permitted to come down here, madame?" She asked hopefully. Erik looked at her, aghast. He could not believe that anybody would want to make the long trip underground, to his world of darkness and night. He had lived in solitude for so long, after all. Amélie turned to him, and clasped her hands with a pleading expression on her face. "Please, monsieur? Your house gives me a quiet place where I can collect my thoughts, or a place to read a book where I wouldn't be disturbed by a ballet rat! I won't make a peep at all, I'll just sit in a corner and keep to myself! You won't be disturbed!"

He simply stared at her with a slightly shocked expression.

Madame Giry made a rather exasperated noise. "Really, Amélie, you must stop bothering him. Let's go now, and get you back to your room to dry your hair before you catch a cold." She stood up and firmly herded Amélie toward the secret passageway she had appeared from. Amélie spluttered, and attempted to turn back toward the phantom with pitiful eyes, but she was dragged along by Madame Giry.

Antoinette believed that it would be best to separate the two of them. If Amélie spent more time with Erik, there was the possibility that she would realize that he was the child who had kept her company so many years ago, and it could raise questions that Antoinette had no answer to, or rather, did not wish to answer. The Erik now, after ten years of living abroad and having witnessed numerous atrocities committed by his own hands, was quite simply, not the Erik of the past, who would spend time telling a little girl stories. Antoinette did not want to see either of them hurt again, should Amélie discover the ugly truth about Erik's past. Honestly, she doubted that Amélie would really care, since she had been brought up well, by Antoinette herself, no less, to look beyond a person's physical appearance, but since Erik had been so insistent about not meeting her, perhaps it would be beneficial to all parties for them to simply go their own ways.

Antoinette was not prepared to hear Erik's voice just before she entered the secret passageway, unusually thin and wavering. It was unsure and hesitant.

"Antoinette! She… she can come down if she wants to."

Antoinette stopped short. "What?"

"She can come down, if she wants to." He repeated himself slowly, as though Antoinette were a child who could not understand him. Antoinette clucked her tongue at him.

"Are you sure?" She eyed him suspiciously. He nodded mutely. Amélie was both delighted and surprised at how the day's events had turned out, but she wriggled free of Madame Giry's grasp on her shoulder and dashed back to where the phantom sat. She wanted to hug him, but as he was sitting down, it would be quite impossible. Not to mention that Madame Giry was still present and it simply would not be appropriate. Instead, she grabbed his hand in both of hers in gratitude.

"Oh, monsieur! Thank you! May I call you Monsieur Erik? That's what Madame Giry called you, right?" She said happily.

Erik looked a little overwhelmed at her exuberance. "Ah… Erik is fine, mademoiselle." He attempted to extricate his hand from hers, but she only gripped it tighter.

"You must call me Amélie, then!" She smiled happily, before finally releasing his hand and skipping back to where Madame Giry stood.

It was decided that Amélie would be allowed to visit the Opera Ghost, no, Erik, twice a week on Tuesdays and Fridays after lunch, and she would return promptly before dinner time. Amélie could not imagine why she felt so happy at the fact that she would be allowed to go down to his caverns again, but she was inexplicably happy. Yes, that was the word for it. She could not remember a time in her life when she had been so excited before. That night, she took her music box out again, trailing her fingers gently over its aged surface. I've found a new friend, and his voice reminds me of you, my masked friend. Perhaps this is why I feel so delighted at being allowed to see him again. I wonder if he knows many stories like you did?

And deep in his caverns, Erik pounded hard on his pipe organ, scribbling frantically on his manuscript paper before the melodies within his head left him. He felt strangely warm inside, but did not know exactly what the feeling was. It felt a little like excitement.

A/N: As usual, please read/review/follow/favourite/let me know what you think! It keeps me writing! (; xx hazel