A/N: Wow, how time flies! When I first started this fanfic, I never imagined that I would be going all the way up to chapter 40 and beyond. But somehow it's been almost 40 weeks since I first started writing! Anyway as some kind of preliminary announcement... I'm considering changing my posting schedule to every Sunday instead of Monday, since school is starting tomorrow for me, but I haven't decided yet. I'll see how it goes! Hiatuses may be upcoming in the near future, as I'm running out of ideas (writer's block) and I kind of want to get used to my new school life. Just a heads up! (:

Mikazuki Okami: Hmm that sounds interesting! But I haven't actually typed up something in Erik's perspective (possibly also because my sub-consciousness told me it would be really tricky to write in Erik's POV) and I've already written a few chapters ready for posting... perhaps I'll write about his feelings sometime in the near future though!

Masked Man 2: I love Erik-Nadir bromance, I have to admit. -sorrynotsorry- I look forward to writing more Erik/Nadir scenes, though I'm finding it a little hard to fit them in. Maybe I'll think of something! Amelie was only flustered, not sick (:

Savannah White: Hehehe actually... all she did was dance XD

kitkat: hahaha thank you so much! (: (why not get an account though? hehe)

Lydia the tygeropean: Your wait is over! I present Il Muto!

Thank you Shiko-Rae for the follow! (:

Chapter 41: Il Muto

Paris, 1897

It was almost evening, in a little bakery just off the Rue de Rivoli, a short walk away from the Palais Garnier. The air was cold, with the first flakes of the day's winter snow wafting gently through the air. The windows of the bakery were a little fogged over, but if you looked closely, you would see a young man arguing with the lady seated across the table from him.

"Oh, Raoul, look at the time! I simply must go. I will be late for my lessons!" Christine said, glancing nervously at the clock on the wall. "You know how I dislike being late for my lessons."

Raoul, the Vicomte de Chagny and the patron of the Palais Garnier, scowled. "You mean to say that your teacher dislikes you being late for his lessons."

Christine clucked her tongue impatiently. "Of course I do not mean that, Raoul. You should know how much I treasure my lessons!"

"Why should you even need lessons for this production? You're playing the role of the mute!" Raoul said frustratedly, running a hand through his blond locks. "Christine, I have so little time to spend with you as it is, what with rehearsals and costume fittings, let alone your mysterious lessons with your teacher!"

Red bloomed in Christine's cheeks, and her eyes narrowed. Raoul saw the telltale sign of annoyance and realized that he had perhaps gone too far. He rubbed a hand over his face wearily.

"Christine, I did not mean to put it that way. I am just… frustrated… wondering why we cannot seem to spend more time together." His eyes pleaded for her forgiveness, swirling pools of enchanting blue. Christine sighed. How could she blame him? She often cut short their meetings, or turned him down straight, using her music lessons as the reason. And as much as he had pestered her to let him meet her mysterious music teacher, she had never divulged anything to him yet. If she were to put herself into his shoes, Christine was quite certain that she would be just as frustrated.

"Raoul," she began slowly, cautiously. "My music teacher has been extremely accommodating toward me leaving the opera house to meet with you, and his time is so precious. I value my lessons with him very much, and I do not want to anger him. Please understand."

"You are afraid of your teacher," Raoul stated flatly. "You live in fear of his anger, of his tantrums! What kind of teacher is that?"

"Yes," admitted Christine. "Yes, I am afraid of him, just a little. He is a good teacher—no doubt a demanding one, but a very capable and talented teacher. I am lucky to have him, Raoul. And though I am a little afraid of him, I know he will never hurt me."

"He sounds just like a bully." Raoul spat angrily. "He gets angry when you are late for lessons, and you even have to gain his permission to meet me. I want to meet this teacher of yours, Christine. How am I to be assured of the fact that he will not hurt you, when he seems to be angry all the time?"

Perhaps the fact that we have lessons in completely different rooms should assure you. Christine sighed. "He will not hurt me, Raoul. He is harmless. Now, please let us leave now. We have spent enough time discussing this subject, and I wish to be back at the opera house."

The conversation was over, and they both knew it. Raoul did not want to back down regarding his negative opinions about Christine's teacher, and Christine herself, though thankful for Raoul's concern regarding her wellbeing, was unwilling to divulge any secrets about her teacher. There was nothing else they could discuss about it.

As they walked back to the opera house, Christine was mired in her thoughts.

For her part, Christine enjoyed Raoul's company, liked him a little, even. He was witty and amusing, and he genuinely cared about her. Over the past few months, she had gotten to know him better, and she liked what she knew about him. When she ended rehearsals late into the evening, aching and sore, he was often there with a smile and a mug of hot chocolate for her. The other ballet rats gossiped incorrigibly –some quite nastily—about her relationship with the patron, but Raoul shrugged off the malicious gossip and did not let it affect his caring actions toward her. It was a nice feeling, having someone by your side.

But now, as the debut of Il Muto drew nearer, Christine had more worries on her mind than her budding feelings for the patron of the opera house. She had spent the past few months having secret lessons with her teacher, learning the parts of the Countess by heart, even though she had been cast in the role of the mute Serafimo. When she had asked her Angel why she needed to learn it, he had simply laughed a mysterious laugh and reminded her that her learning of Elissa's part in Hannibal had been highly useful, even though she had not been cast in the part of Elissa.

Which probably meant that he had a plan to put her on the stage. Her Angel had many secret plans that she was not privy to, and it made her a little nervous sometimes. But she trusted him, despite her fear.

XXXXX

a few months later, the night of Il Muto's debut

"You look beautiful."

Amélie gasped and dropped her powder puff onto the dressing table, turning sharply. "Erik! The other ballet rats could come in at any minute!"

He merely smiled, reaching for her powder puff and handing it to her. "You look beautiful," he repeated again.

She felt heat rush to her cheeks, and she hurriedly turned back to the mirror, patting the puff over her face. "You are looking rather dapper yourself, Erik."

And in truth, he did look rather good. His tailored vest was made of a fine grey pinstripe, and his trousers pressed neatly. His overcoat was a heavy black wool, and his usual fedora was tipped over his face. He could almost pass as any normal member in the audience.

He smiled widely and quickly, showing gleaming white teeth. It was a smile that made Amélie's heart thump a little faster, for the times that he smiled that way were so rare.

"Will you be watching the performance from your box?" Amélie asked. He frowned.

"No, the managers decided not to bother with the Opera Ghost's threats, and will be sitting in the box tonight. I will be watching from the catwalks. Do not worry, I wouldn't miss your first big performance for the world."

She flushed. "It's not that big of a deal, Erik. I only get to be on the stage for a short while, during the ballet."

"The lead role in the ballet," he corrected her gently. "You will do well."

She grimaced at him. "I have butterflies in my stomach. I am just so worried that I will trip, or forget my steps, or…" She broke off and groaned, imagining the worst possible scenarios. He chuckled, and the sound was rich and warm.

"Amélie, I have watched you practice diligently for the past couple of months. You are ready for this dance."

She smiled at him. He reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a red rose, handing it to her with a gallant bow. She reached for it delightedly, running her fingertips over the large, velvety petals.

"Thank you, Erik." She leaned forward and kissed his cheek shyly. His eyes registered surprise, but he only smiled a half-smile, before leaving.

He seemed to be doing that a lot lately—leaving rooms via the door, as though he did not care who saw him around the opera house. Surely it would not be a good thing for the Opera Ghost to be seen emerging from a room with only Amélie within? But before Amélie had a chance to think this through, the door flew open and a few ballet rats bustled in, adjusting their costumes.

"Ooh, what have you got there, Amélie?" One of them noticed the red rose still clutched in her hand. Amélie opened her mouth, but did not know what to reply.

"Is it from a secret admirer?" Another ballet rat giggled and poked the first ballet rat with her elbow. "We saw a tall and mysterious man walk past us as we were coming back to the dressing room."

"You saw… a man?" Amélie asked faintly. She had to tell Erik to stop entering dressing rooms and dormitories; his being seen was far too dangerous.

"Is that your secret admirer, you naughty girl?"

"Ooh, tell us who he is! He walked so quickly that we did not see what he looked like!"

Amélie mumbled a few vague replies, waving away their questions distractedly, and wondering what in the world Erik was up to. He was not usually so careless when making his way around the opera house.

XXXXX

"Christine." Her Angel's voice echoed in her ear, and Christine froze from where she was lacing up the boots to her costume. She looked around the room in shock, but nobody seemed to have taken any notice to the disembodied voice.

Her Angel laughed then. "Christine, only you are able to hear me."

"Oh," she said, but before she could say anything else, he shushed her.

"You will look strange talking to yourself, Christine. Now keep quiet and listen carefully to what I am going to say," he said solemnly, but Christine had to giggle a little at the mental image of herself mumbling to nobody. She was sure that the other people in the room would most likely think she had lost her wits. She nodded her head to indicate that she was listening, and her Angel continued.

"Carlotta will be playing the lead, but you should be prepared to take over should anything happen," he said silkily, and Christine stood from her seat, alarmed.

"Calm down, Christine, for nothing bad will happen." He assured her. "She will merely be unable to sing, and you will have no choice but to take over. You are ready for that, are you not? Do not disappoint me."

His voice was gentle, but Christine felt the hard bite of steel beneath his words. This was their chance for her to shine again, and he had banked all his hopes on her. She could not disappoint him. She took a deep breath, and nodded.

"Now, listen carefully. When I make my appearance, and little Meg screams that it is the phantom – and given her flair for theatrics, I am rather certain that she will, so you need not worry about what will happen if she keeps quiet—I want you to agree with her that it is the phantom of the opera, and you must seem surprised. It will erase any suspicion of you being in cahoots with me. That is all you need to do."

She could only nod shakily, gripping her skirts in her clammy palms.

"Good. You will sing perfectly, as always, Christine. In the role of the Countess."

She could only hope so.

XXXXX

"Serafimo, away with this disguise!" Carlotta sang shrilly into Christine's ear, ripping off Christine's skirt with a lot more force than necessary, shoving her in the process and causing her to stumble a little. Christine gritted her teeth and glared at the prima donna. Carlotta's bright orange hair had been hidden under a large, powdered white wig a la Marie Antoinette, and her considerable girth had been stuffed into a large frothy confection of a pink dress, dripping with lace and ribbons. It made her resemble a large, iced wedding cake that would topple at any moment. Christine had told Meg so before the performance, and the two had giggled until Carlotta had passed by them and stared them down.

From his place in the catwalks, Erik observed the two managers and the patron in Box Five., trying to read their lips in the darkness. The managers looked giddy with happiness, and one of them was saying to the other, "hardly a disaster beyond imagination! Every seat sold out, Andre! We are a success!"

Erik smirked. We will see about that, my dear managers.

He pressed himself more firmly against the pillar that he was hiding against, waiting for the opportune moment when the music of the orchestra died down a little. Every member in the audience had to hear him tonight. And then he opened his mouth.

Christine had been just inches away from Carlotta's face and her strong floral perfume, pretending to kiss her as Serafimo, but really trying her best not to sneeze, when she heard her Angel's booming voice echo through the cavernous ceilings of the theatre.

"Did I not instruct that Box Five was to be kept empty?"

His voice was loud and thunderous, and a few members of the audience jumped up in fright. Most were looking around the room in horror, wondering what it was all about.

"The Phantom…?" Christine mouthed to Meg, who had caught her eye the moment the loud voice had echoed through the room.

"It's him! He's here! The Phantom of the Opera!" True enough, Meg shrieked loudly, jumping up from where she had been seated next to Carlotta. Christine hurriedly got up.

"It must be him! I know it's him." She called out, letting her voice wobble a little, her eyes searching in the darkness for her Angel. She thought she saw a hint of white flash from across the room, in one of the balconies on the higher floors, but she could not be sure. Carlotta stormed up to her and yanked her back angrily.

"Your part is silent, you little toad. You are a mute!" She hissed, loud enough for the audience to hear. Some of them tittered, thinking that it was all part of the play.

"A toad, madame? Perhaps you are the toad." Her Angel's voice told Carlotta silkily, and Carlotta's face turned a bright shade of puce, and she drew herself up tall, determined to prove the mystery voice wrong. She waved haughtily to Reyer to start the music again, ignoring the cautious warnings the other cast members whispered to her. As the music began, Carlotta opened her mouth to sing again.

She managed to get through a few notes before a loud croak resounded through the room. To the audience, it looked as though Carlotta were making the obnoxious toad-like noises, but Christine could see the horror on Carlotta's face, and hear her shrieking her notes frantically at the top of her voice, desperate for the audience to hear her. But her Angel's voice far overpowered Carlotta's, and to everyone else, Carlotta had as good as ruined her reputation on stage.

"What's going on? What is this sorcery?" Carlotta shouted, fear apparent in her wide, blinking eyes. She turned in a circle, her eyes darting toward the ceiling nervously, probably expecting a vengeful spirit to be staring back at her, shrieking at the top of her voice all the while. "It is the Opera Ghost! Help!"

The only thing the audience heard, though, was another loud croak issued from her Angel. Christine covered her mouth surreptitiously to hide the small smile that tugged at the corners of her lips no matter how much she told herself to be serious. Carlotta looked rather ridiculous in her frenzy to stop the croaking noises, waving her hands frantically and resembling a rather overfed chicken.

"Behold! She is singing to bring down the chandelier!" Erik cackled gleefully, noting the fear on Carlotta's face as she ran off stage in tears, screaming hysterically. This is what you get when you try to cross the Opera Ghost, my dear prima donna.

The audience was sitting in bewildered silence as Andre ran onto the stage, stumbling in his haste to clamber up onto the wooden platform. His hair was messy and his face was red, as though he had dashed all the way from his box to the stage at top speed.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please, remain in your seats. The performance will continue in ten minutes, with Christine Daae as the Countess." He cast an angry glance around the ceilings of the theatre, glaring at the unseen spectre who had ruined the night's performance. "Meanwhile, we shall give you the ballet from Act Three. Monsieur Reyer, please." He gestured to the conductor, who hurriedly raised his baton.

Amélie heard her cue in the opening bars of the music, and gripped her floral garland tightly, taking a deep breath, before beginning her first leap onto the stage.

A/N: Yeahhhh go Amélie! Anyway, hope you guys all enjoyed this chapter, and see you again next week if possible! As usual, please read/review/fav/follow. xx hazel