A/N: Haha guess what, guys... I've yet another school camp so this week's chapter will be another day early because I'll be spending Monday in camp already.

And in this week's chapter... dun dun dun... our favourite blonde ballerina makes a grand discovery.

Wild Concerto: I knowwww I totally ship Erik/Nadir bromances hehehe.

Masked Man 2: He'll probably tell her, but I haven't written it anywhere yet and it's probably not going to be any time soon haha! I'm glad you liked Nadir though, he was a joy to write.

Nikki1991: Hehehe daroga needs a new job as matchmaker.

Lydia the tygeropean: I love fluff (:

Savannah White: Well there can hopefully only be a happy ending for this story... (;

Dylan Rose: I took many liberties with Erik and Nadir's friendship! Or at least I wrote it how I imagined their relationship should be like. I'm glad you enjoyed it!

Chapter 39: Meg's Discovery

Paris, 1896

"Have you sorted matters out with your teacher, Christine?" Meg sat on her bed, wide-eyed, as she watched Christine pull a brush through her tangled curls. Christine bit her lip, looking down as she tugged the bristles of the brush through her hair. Meg sighed.

"Christine, what is holding you back? Surely you want to apologize again to your teacher, and start lessons again? The new production will be announced to the opera house soon, and you want to stand on the stage again, do you not?"

"I'm scared," mumbled Christine. "I do not know whether he will forgive me."

Meg made an exasperated noise. "From what you told me of your encounter, I think it is highly likely that he will forgive you. Therefore, do it! Apologize to him!"

"I… I will, after I return to the opera house."

"Where are you going?"

Christine sighed. "The vicomte invited me to have tea with him this afternoon, and we will be going to a little cafe just around the corner of the opera house. I expect I will be back later in the day." She finished combing her hair, and tied it back with a blue ribbon, before standing.

"I'll see you when you get back, then." Meg shrugged. "I'll just be wandering around the opera house daydreaming as usual."

Christine laughed, gave Meg a quick hug, and set off. Sighing, Meg stood too, straightening her skirt. Perhaps she would practice a little more while Christine was gone; she wanted to perfect some routines, and her mother would be pleased. In fact, Meg decided that she would ask her mother if she wanted to run through some routines with her. She knew that the strict ballet mistress had high hopes of her daughter becoming the next prima ballerina, as she had once been for a short while.

Meg set off through the opera house. It was mostly quiet, as they had a few precious days of rest after the final production of Hannibal. Much of the opera house members had spent the past couple of days gossiping about Christine, and about the Opera Ghost who had supposedly spirited Christine away from her dressing room after the performance. Meg scoffed at the story that had been making its rounds around the place—the Opera Ghost was apparently a primo uomo who had died tragically in the opera house, and now haunted it. When he heard Christine sing, he had been enthralled by her lovely voice and decided to kidnap her to sing for him. It was a ridiculous story. Meg certainly did not think the opera ghost would be capable of doing that, for he had never out-rightly harmed the opera house members before. Sure, a missing powder puff or two, or dead spiders around the place, but nothing that physically harmed them. Meg sighed. Gossip would be gossip, and besides, such stories kept life in the opera house interesting.

She reached her mother's rooms, and knocked briefly, opening the door without waiting for an answer. She saw her mother give a small gasp, before dropping her teacup on the table, her gaze darting anxiously to her right. Meg followed her mother's gaze, and realized, that her mother had a guest. And not just any guest, a male guest! Meg had never seen her mother have a guest to tea besides Amélie, but then again Amélie was practically family. She opened her mouth to apologize, but the only words that came out were, "Who is that, Maman?"

She had never seen her mother so flustered before. Her mother righted her teacup hastily, coughing. "Oh, he's just a friend of mine, Meg. He will be leaving now; we were just having a spot of tea together."

The guest nodded, moving so quickly that Meg did not manage to take a second glance at him to see what he looked like. He already had his hat on, a fedora tilted across his face, casting dark shadows onto it, and he was already standing. The only thing Meg could discern was his tall build. The man gave a respectful bow to her mother, and strode toward the door, his form intimidating. Meg gulped, and hurriedly moved aside to let him pass.

"Thank you, mademoiselle. Have a good day." He murmured as he swept past her. Meg felt a slight flush creep up her neck, for his voice had sounded so sensual and perfect.

She rushed into the room, where her mother was cleaning up the spilt tea, and trying her best not to look Meg in the eye. Meg planted her palms flat on the table and leaned forward.

"Who is he, Maman? I never knew you had a friend like that!"

Her mother wiped the table quickly in brief, precise motions. "His identity is of no concern to you, Meg. He is merely a friend."

"Ah, a friend." Meg blinked innocently at her mother, her angelic blue eyes glittering. "Is that what we are calling it these days, Maman? I am no longer a child, Maman."

"Erik is not more than a friend! For goodness's sake, Meg! I am at least six years older than he is! Now, enough of this matter. He was over for some tea and a chat, and nothing more. What is it you wanted to look for me about?"

"His name is Erik, is it, then?" Meg said, grinning mischievously, victoriously. Her mother merely looked annoyed with herself for having revealed such information to Meg.

XXXXX

Christine waited on the doorstep of the main entrance of the opera house, fussing with her skirts. It was the first time she would be actually spending time in the company of her childhood friend, and she had no idea what to expect. The sun was beating down brightly, and a gentle breeze lifted wisps of her curls off her face. She sighed and shifted her feet restlessly.

"Christine!" His familiar voice called from down the street, and she looked up to see him striding toward her purposefully, dressed impeccably in a beige fawn waistcoat and neatly pressed trousers, a stylish cravat around his neck pinned in place with a small diamond pin, topped with a dark wool coat. His blond hair was combed back from his face, and he was beaming at her. Christine allowed herself to smile hesitantly, bobbing a small curtsey.

"Good day, Monsieur le Vicomte."

He frowned at her disapprovingly. "No more of these titles, Christine. I expect you to call me Raoul! You called me that the night of your debut, and I liked that very much. We have never stood on formality, have we?"

She shook her head wryly, and he grinned, offering his arm to her. "It was such a lovely day, so I thought we could just walk down to the bakery and enjoy the fresh air. Shall we?"

She took his proffered arm, and together they strolled leisurely down the street, a picture perfect image. He looked like a blond angel, and she a complement with her milky complexion and chocolate curls. People on the streets stopped to point and whisper behind their palms, recognizing her as the missing diva that had appeared on the front page of the news, and Christine tried her best to ignore him.

When they had settled down at the bakery, steaming cups of cafe au lait placed before them, and crusty, freshly baked croissants on their plates, Christine glanced up at him shyly. He was looking down in concentration as he buttered his croissant, his dark blond lashes masking his eyes. At that moment, as though he had felt her gaze on him, he looked up at caught her staring. Christine felt a blush creeping up her face, but he simply laughed, gesturing for her to eat.

"How have you been, Christine? I know I asked you this in your dressing room after your performance… but… is there really nothing going on?" Raoul enquired hesitantly, looking at her intently.

"Oh Raoul, you know how the newspapers love a good gossip. Truly, there is nothing going on. I had an appointment to meet my music teacher after my performance, and honestly speaking, it was rude of you to assume that I would drop all my plans to have supper with you. I am sorry to have left without letting you know, but I was… I was already late for meeting my teacher. The papers simply blew up the story into something sensational, to make it look as though some mysterious spectre kidnapped me. And you believed that, too."

His jaw tightened in displeasure. "I had assumed so, too, because you left without a note. All the opera house members would do was babble to me stories about some sort of ghost within the opera house! What was I to do?"

"I am grateful for your concern, Raoul, I really am," Christine assured him with a small smile. "But I would like to let the matter about the opera ghost die down quietly. I was not kidnapped; I went to meet my music teacher out of my own free will. It was a lack of negligence on my part not to let anyone know of my destination."

He looked slightly assuaged by her words, but not completely appeased. "Even then, Christine, what is all this talk about a ghost? You cannot be singing in an opera house haunted by a supposed ghost! Why, it is too dangerous for you! With your talent, you could be singing in any opera house in this country! A word from me, and any opera house would take you in as—"

"No, Raoul, no!" She cut in quickly, interrupting his words. He looked surprised, but she barreled on. "Raoul, I want to stay at the Palais Garnier. My friends are there, and I have been there for the past year or so. It is my home now! Besides, the Opera Ghost… is of no harm to anybody. He has never hurt anyone."

Raoul opened his mouth, but Christine shook her head wildly. "He did not kidnap me, Raoul. Besides, I want to sing in other opera houses because of my talent, and not because of your influence."

Her words must have been sharper than she had intended, for Raoul looked a little put-out and hurt by her last statement. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "I am sorry, Christine. I meant only to help. We are friends, are we not?"

"I…" Christine searched for the correct words to say. "Raoul, it has been years, many years, since we last saw each other. We never kept in contact after you left the beach, and this is the first time we have actually met each other in all those years. Raoul, are we considered friends?"

He was silent, looking stiff and tense, and Christine felt a little bad. After all, he had only good intentions, and she had been happy to see her childhood friend after all these years, and she was sure that it had been a mutual feeling of happiness. She reached out a hand cautiously and patted his, saying, "But Raoul, I do wish to be friends again."

Raoul's tense shoulders relaxed a little, and he managed a small smile. "But of course, Christine. I would definitely love to rekindle our friendship. I was so glad to hear you sing on the stage once again. As the patron of the Palais Garnier, I will most certainly be around the opera house very often, and I will see you around."

She smiled. "I would like that."

After their tea, Raoul walked her back to the opera house. They had spent quite some time talking about their childhood, reminiscing delightful memories of the past, and then had moved on to talk of the future. Christine had talked about her dreams of standing on the stage, of becoming the greatest opera singer in Paris, perhaps even France, and Raoul had encouraged her to pursue those dreams. In turn, he had told her that he intended to make some good investments with the money from his trust fund, one of which included the opera house. He wanted to settle down in Paris, in his family's town house, for the time being.

Time had passed quickly as they talked, and now as they walked back slowly to the opera house, with the lingering contentedness from an afternoon well spent hanging in the air between them, the sun was slowly setting, casting an amber glow upon the pavements. Christine looked up at Raoul, his hair lit by the beams of sunlight, his nose aquiline and strong. He looked… handsome, and young, and picture perfect. And for a moment Christine let herself be carried away by the daydream of being together with him one day. It was a picturesque daydream.

They reached the steps of the entrance to the opera house, and Christine let go of Raoul's arm, smiling up at him. "Thank you for a lovely day, Raoul."

"Thank you for spending time with me, Christine. I will see you around." He reached out and snagged a chocolate curl, letting the smooth strands run through his fingers. He smiled a dazzling smile at her, and waved boyishly, before walking off.

Christine stood on the doorstep, watching him as he walked off. He turned back, saw her, and waved again. This time she waved back, laughing.

Oh yes, it was such a picturesque daydream.

XXXXX

Meg locked the door of the practice room behind her, tilting her head from side to side to loosen the tense and aching muscles in her neck. Her mother had left almost an hour ago to check on the younger ballet rats, leaving her to practice on her own. Not that Meg had minded, for she loved being alone in the large practice room, twirling around, spinning, and watching her smiling form in the mirror. Dancing was something that Meg loved; she always felt like she was flying. The sore muscles were nothing compared to a day filled with dancing. Meg knew that her mother hoped for her to be the next prima ballerina; Meg wanted, no, needed to be the next lead ballerina. It had always been her dream.

She pocketed the key and walked off, hoping to get to the showers before it was too late. It was already way into dinner time, so most of the opera house members would be in the dining room, enjoying their meal. Meg shrugged; she would just have to make herself a sandwich later. She skipped happily down the corridors, humming the music to her latest routine, and choreographing imaginary moves in her head.

She had not expected there to be anybody around the practice rooms, but the next moment, Meg was shoved to her side as a large form barreled into her. A large, hairy form that reeked of alcohol. She felt meaty arms surround her in a bone-crushing hug, and smelt the stale breath from his mouth. Meg opened her mouth to shriek, but a large hand clamped down on her face, preventing her from making any sound.

"Now, now, my darlin' girl… I know you want me… I've been waiting for you after every practice, and you promised me that today we would have some time together, eh? My darlin' Edith…" A slurred voice purred in Meg's ear, making her shiver and her goosebumps rise.

"I'm not Edith!" She tried to shout, but his hand muffled her voice. "Let me go at once!"

He showed no sign of releasing her, even allowing his hands to paw her body, clasped within his grasp. Meg gasped as she felt his hands moving higher, and she opened her mouth to clamp her teeth hard onto his hand. At once, he yowled and let her go. Meg pushed him aside and tried to run away, but he grabbed onto her arm, and she fell onto the floor, hitting her chin. She tasted blood in her mouth. Her heart was beating so loudly that she heard the loud thuds in her ear.

"You little whore! Lied to me, did you?" Her mystery attacker grabbed onto her ankle, inching his way up her calf. "Stupid girl!"

"I'm not Edith, you brute!" Meg yelled at him, trying to kick him away. He shouted in pain, and rose above her to slap her face, his arm arcing back. Meg closed her eyes in horror.

The slap never came. All Meg heard was a strangled whimper and the gruesome sounds of flesh against bone. She opened her eyes slowly, only to see a white mask staring at her in the darkness. Her lips parted in a silent scream. The Opera Ghost!

Her first instinct was to scream, to run. But then she recalled her earlier thoughts that the opera ghost had never harmed anybody before. She slowly righted herself, standing shakily. The Opera Ghost was not looking at her, she realized. He was looking at the prone body at his feet. She squinted, trying to discern who it was. Joseph Buquet! The unconscious man had large bruises blooming over his face already, and a split lip.

Meg did not feel sorry for him at all.

Then the white mask turned toward her, and she gulped. "Ah… thank you?" What does one say to the Opera Ghost, anyway?

He did not say anything for a few moments, and Meg wondered if perhaps ghosts could not speak. But just then, she heard him speak.

"Are you alright?"

She nodded shakily, and she saw the white mask nod, before it disappeared from her view completely. Meg gave a start, reaching forward.

"Monsieur, wait!"

But he was gone.

Meg looked at the man lying on the floor before her, and ran. She did not stop for a single moment as she dashed to her dormitory room. Only when she was safely inside, her back against the closed door, did she think about her rescuer. The ballet rats in the room gave her curious looks as they saw their friend, originally sweating and flushed, leaning against the door, her face paling within seconds of her arrival in the room.

For Meg had realized something in the few words that her rescuer had said to her.

Are you alright?

She had most definitely heard this voice before.

The Opera Ghost had never spoken to anybody before, not that she had heard of. Yes, he cackled and laughed evilly after every terrible prank on Carlotta, but not once had he ever said anything to anybody. But he had asked her if she was alright, and she knew she had heard that voice before, for it was so melodic and sensual that she had known, after the first time hearing it, that she would never forget it.

That first time outside her mother's room, in the doorway.

A/N: The cat's out of the bag! Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! As usual please read/review/fav/follow/let me know what you think! xx hazel