A/N: Gosh I completely forgot to post this week! Monday night I had an exam, and Tuesday was a blur of activity. To make up for the late posting, I decided to post anyway even if it is already Wednesday haha.

LaLadyCavalier: Thank you for your support! (:

Masked Man 2: Haha I thought I was pretty sure "naught" was appropriate too... I think it is a lot more forceful than "not", in the sense that it literally means nothing, nothing, nothing. And yeah, I thought there might be a bit of backlash regarding Raoul's shift from the more passive nice guy to a more forceful one, but I had to do it for the plot, otherwise I would have no idea how the plan was to be laid. Hmmm. Raoul's going to get a bit worse though, but hopefully it won't bring Raoul-lovers crashing down around my head! Haha.

Nikki1991: I did not write Amelie's reaction to Erik's stunt, however ): I'm pretty sure she expected it already, though, haha. But what a pity, it would have been a fun scene to write! I feel like I haven't been including enough Amelie-Erik scenes.

DP1014: Don't worry about it! Having your support to read the story is already great (: And I know, why do they have to discuss it in the opera house? XD

HalloweenSpell: I'm glad you enjoyed it!

Mikazuki Okami: Her dress was purely based on imagination (: I'm very big on fashion (I fashion blog and all) and it was great fun describing her dress!

Lydia the tygeropean: Hehe thank you! Enjoy the new chapter!

Tallen93: I know, thank goodness for Amelie haha! I'm glad you're enjoying the read so far (:

Guest: Woah it's been so long since I started the story that I can't even remember, haha! By a rough estimation Amelie's about 21 and Christine would be a couple of years younger, maybe around 18?

E-man-dy-S: They're definitely too paranoid! Haha!

Adeline: Haha, don't worry about it! Everyone's been very understanding about my busy life and being unable to post on Monday. No angry PMs so far! And I'm glad you like the story so far (though nope, the chandelier's not falling!)

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Chapter 49: The Plan is Laid

Paris, 1899

"This is madness!" Madame Giry exclaimed. "You know not what fire you're playing with!"

"It is brilliance, madame, pure genius!" Firmin roared exasperatedly, rounding on the ballet mistress. "Is everybody in cahoots with that Opera Ghost now? There is nothing wrong with this plan!"

Madame Giry scoffed. "In cahoots? Your mind is too filled with thoughts of how to overthrow the Opera Ghost to think properly, monsieur. To think, you're accusing me of being in cahoots with the Opera Ghost! Why, I have been here for years, and nobody has ever seen fit to malign me so."

"Madame, please," Raoul raised his hands in a peaceful gesture. "He meant no harm; we are all just a little touchy over what happened at the masquerade. But pray tell, why do you not think this will work?"

"It is a dangerous game you play, and one that will burn you if you are not careful," Madame Giry said, speaking to Raoul, yet her eyes bore into Christine's brown ones. "The Opera Ghost is far cleverer than you think, and you play with fire, monsieur, fire."

She turned to leave.

"Madame, wait!" Raoul called after her. "Help us, then! You have been here so long; you must know some of his secrets. Help us play this game to win."

Madame Giry sniffed haughtily. "I beg your pardon, monsieur le vicomte, but I must decline. I know nothing more about the Opera Ghost than you do, and even if I did know more, I would not dare to gamble with such high stakes. If I were you, I would not do it, either." She cast Christine one final glance, before sweeping from the room.

"Oh, that… that ballet mistress!" Firmin spluttered, shaking his fists angrily. "I could never stand her, all proud and high-and-mighty, strutting around this opera house as though she owns it!"

Raoul waved a hand dismissively at Firmin's grumbles. "It matters not, monsieur. We will carry out our plan, and we will win."

"No," Christine suddenly spoke up, her voice trembling wildly. "I will not do it, Raoul. I will not take part in this plan."

Everyone turned to look at her, standing alone in the middle of the room, her fists clenched and at her sides, her face pale with tension. Her mouth was set in a grim and firm line and her chocolate brown eyes looked steely despite her shaking voice.

"Christine, Christine," Raoul walked back to her, taking her shoulders in his hands. "Please, this is our only chance. You have to do it."

"Just a few moments ago you were assuring me that nobody would force me to sing, Raoul," Christine pointed out shakily. "Raoul, I cannot do it. I am scared."

Her words ended on a whisper.

I am scared.

I will not betray him again.

If I go through with this… he might lose. I am terrified of what might happen to him. No.

I will not play this game.

Raoul sighed. "Christine, do not think that we do not care for your safety. You must not be scared! When this is over… just think of it! We will be happy at last, and you will be free. You are our only hope."

"Yes indeed, mademoiselle, you alone hold the power in this game. You are our last chance!" Firmin crowded to her side, all simpering now that he needed her help. Andre nodded and closed in on her other side, a beseeching look upon his face. Even Carlotta inched closer, a hideous smirk on her powdered face.

Christine looked around wildly, at the faces surrounding her.

"I… I will think about it," she said, though she knew, from the determined looks on their faces, that her answer had already been predetermined by all of them, and nothing she said could possibly change a thing."

XXXXX

Christine pushed open the door to the practice room, clutching her scores for Don Juan Triumphant. The managers had pushed it into her hands just hours before, insisting that everything would be fine and it would do them all a world of good if she sang. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it wearily.

Today, the room felt different. It did not feel as cold and forbidding as it had those six months. It felt as though…

Her heart skipped a beat. It felt as though her teacher was back.

"You know how important punctuality is to me, Christine."

And suddenly, his voice echoed through the room. Christine gave a small shriek, jumping and clutching her chest.

"Angel! Are you… are you really here?" She scanned the walls wildly, knowing that she would see nothing anyway, but finding comfort in the familiar action.

"Why, no, indeed, it is another person speaking to you from through the walls," he said sarcastically, though not meanly. Christine clutched the manuscript to her chest in relief, practically in tears.

"Oh, Angel! You-you're back!" Her voice trembled with emotion, and she struggled to grasp the right words to say. "Angel, I am so, so sorry… I…I was so foolish, I did not think, and I was too scared. I should not have… I should have stood up for you!"

"Hush, Christine. That is all in the past," he said, a little stiffly. "We shall not talk about it again."

She nodded through a teary smile. She heard him sigh.

"Shall we work on your new music, then?"

"Angel, I—I… I cannot sing this! No, I will not sing this!" She almost shouted at him.

"Oh? Do pray tell why," he said, sounding a little amused. "Do you not like the music?"

"Singing this," she waved the manuscript as though it were the plague, "would be equivalent to signing your death warrant, and I cannot, will not, condemn my teacher to such a fate!"

"Ah, Christine, my flair for dramatics must be rubbing off onto you. I have not seen you so agitated before." He still sounded amused, and Christine gritted her teeth, frustrated, wondering why he could not understand her refusal.

"Angel, you do not understand! This… The managers are plotting to use this opera to arrest you!" She ended on a most hysterical note.

Her teacher chuckled. "The Opera Ghost knows everything, Christine. And yet. The plan will go on and you will sing."

"Even if it means that you risk everything? Risk your life?" Christine whispered softly.

"Your concern is touching, child, but I will be fine. Do not worry for this wretched man behind the mask."

She took a deep breath to rebut him, but he continued sternly. "I am well aware that I am not infallible, Christine. However, this is a risk that I have chosen to, and will take. I am only asking for your assistance in it. I shall promise you that I will not allow myself to be caught during the debut of Don Juan, and after that, the Opera Ghost will be no more."

"What? Why? Where will you go?"

"All questions will be answered in time. I will assure you, Christine, that I will continue being your teacher for as long as you wish. But I will no longer play the part of a ghost. And now, enough questions. We are late enough already, and rehearsals begin soon."

His tone was stern, and Christine knew better than to ask questions. She let herself relax into the familiarity of standing in the small room, listening to his commanding voice and his criticism, and pouring her heart into the music.

Later, when Raoul came to pick her up from the room as usual, he commented that she looked much happier than she had been in the past few months whenever he picked her up from that room. She could not bring herself to reveal her teacher's reappearance, but it was true that the lesson had eased some of the guilt she had carried upon herself for the past six months, and she felt lighter, somehow.

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Erik walked back to his house in silence, contemplating the conversation he had had with Christine before their lesson had ended. She had expressed a desire for him to meet her father. It was to be her beloved Papa's death anniversary soon, and she had hoped that her father would be able to meet her talented teacher. Erik had, strangely enough, agreed. He supposed that part of him had been surprised, and honoured even, to be invited to visit someone's grave on their death anniversary. He had certainly never had that experience before. It made him feel almost normal.

The only graves he had seen were the ones he had dug, painstakingly, in the dead of the night, to secretly give a proper burial to the Sultana's torture victims.

He shook his head to clear his mind of the painful memories.

"How did the lesson go?"

A voice broke him out of his reverie, and he raised his eyebrows to see that Amélie was sitting on the divan, a rug tucked around her lap and a book open in her hands. He hung his coat on the coat rack, and crossed the room to her. She smiled, and beckoned for him to come closer, before quickly brushing a kiss on his exposed cheek.

"The lesson went well," he said, shrugging. He sat down and told Amélie about his impending visit to Gustave Daae's grave. Her face crinkled into a frown.

"Will it be safe, Erik?" She placed her hand over his. "What if someone sees the two of you? You could risk everything."

He squeezed her hand comfortingly. "I will take precautions, Amélie. I have already promised Christine. Do not worry, it will be fine."

She sighed reluctantly, and reached toward the table to grasp a twisted paper bag, handing it to him. He opened it to reveal chocolate croissants, and he laughed, eating one immediately.

"Will you play and sing for me?" She asked.

As though he would ever say no to that question. He would spend the rest of his life doing just that for her if she so wished.

He simply held a hand out to her, and she took it, and they walked to the music room together.

XXXXX

Christine stood at the employee's entrance of the Palais Garnier, slightly shivering in the cold morning air, a thick hooded fur cape draped over her small frame. She had tied her curls back, hidden under the hood of the cape to prevent her hair being seen and recognized. She rubbed her gloved hands as she waited for her Angel.

He appeared beside her silently, almost as though he had materialized out of thin air, and she almost shrieked.

It was strange. She could count the number of times she had seen him in the flesh on one hand, and seeing him there beside her now felt a little unsettling. She had not remembered him to be quite so tall or lanky, but his forbidding and stern demeanour felt the same.

"Shall we?" He tipped his fedora further, covering more of his face. Christine could just make out the glimpse of a white mask under the fedora. He was clothed completely in black. She nodded, and he gestured to a nearby horse-drawn carriage that was vacant. She looked around for the owner, but there was nobody.

"I paid the driver to take a rest somewhere while I borrowed his carriage," her teacher said dignifiedly. "I believe it would be best if nobody saw us leave together." He gestured toward the carriage again, and she walked with him to where it waited, climbing into the carriage. He hopped onto the driver's seat with surprising agility, and took up the reins, clicking his tongue to the horse.

The horse began a steady trot, taking the carriage and its passengers further away from the Palais Garnier.

Not more than a minute later, a regal horse-drawn carriage arrived at the doorstep of the Palais Garnier, and a footman opened the door for the Vicomte de Chagny. The vicomte glanced toward the carriage that was moving away from the opera house momentarily, and frowned, thinking that the figure sitting in the carriage looked rather familiar.

The wind blew strongly for an instant, and the figure's cape fell of her head, revealing a head of brown curls.

The vicomte shrugged, and turned back toward the steps of the opera house to wait for daybreak, when the door would be unlocked.

It was only later, when he went up to the dormitories to discover that Christine's room was empty, and that nobody knew where she was, that he suddenly realized that perhaps the figure sitting in the carriage had been her, and she had been taken away from the opera house in an unknown carriage.