Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to Phantom of the Opera. Only original stuff is mine.

AN: Major Erik chapter here! I hope that people like it, but beware: this contains the mention of magic being done! Anyone not comfortable with this needs to keep an open mind while reading, because it's got lots of important information in it about Erik after the fire. Okay? Also, I'm twisting history around to fit my story, so please don't hate me! Thanks, and please review!

Chapter 2: Erik:

As he approached one of the secret staff doors to the auditorium, he could hear music being blasted from the stage area. The song was a very familiar one, a song that he had written so long ago and had only just brought it to light a little over twenty years ago. It was hypnotic, powerful, and captivating, just as he hand planned it to be…just as he himself had been, all of those years ago.

"So long ago," he whispered, eerily mimicking one of the songs from his work.

Indeed, it had started so long ago on a dreary night in Paris. Young Erik had been in his cage, playing with the only toy he'd ever had when the gypsy leader came in, followed by a flock of gawkers composed of men, women, and, to his astonishment, a gaggle of pretty young girls all dressed alike in white dresses and black coats. The gypsy taunted the crowd with a tale about Erik, naming him as the Devil's Child and describing the horrors that lay beneath the coarse sack that was Erik's mask.

"It is a child with a face so hideous, not even a mother could love it," the man sneered to the little girls, most of whom flinched away as he removed the sack that covered Erik's head.

Screams, jeers, and insults were hurled at him, though they did not hurt as much as the stones did. Words hurt, of course, but after so long, the pain began to dull and it was of no consequence to him. Erik merely closed his eyes in humiliation and endured it, as he had every night since his mother had left him in the hands of the gypsies. For one brief moment, though, he opened his eyes and looked at the crowd, hoping that by doing so, he could make them stop out of pity. It occasionally worked, but not often. Today was one of those exceptions, though not the way he had hoped for.

One girl amongst the others, her fair hair tied back in a white ribbon to match her white dress, looked upon him in sorrow and pity. Compassion was not something that Erik had seen often in his life, but it was welcome when it appeared. He memorized every second of that kind look before the sting of the gypsy's whip made him cry out and shut his eyes in pain. For several moments, pain and fear was all he knew, and when it stopped, the sounds of coins and departing voices and footsteps filled the air. The door to his cage closed, and Erik was left alone with his keeper. He quietly watched as the man counted his coins as he did every night, savoring the sound of wealth before it was all spent on drinks or drugs. Like every night, Erik was left alone in his cage, surrounded by rotting food thrown by the crowd and by filthy straw which had previously decorated the cages of the animals outside.

But tonight would be different than any other night. The look in the eyes of that one girl had given Erik a taste of what he wanted, a taste of what he deserved, and it was intoxicating; to feel something more than pain and fear made him want to feel all of the other emotions he had long been denied, and so, he decided to claim them. That night, he unwound a rope he had hidden within his cage…and strangled the man who was his keeper.

The moments following the murder remained a blur to him the rest of his life. Somehow the young girl he had seen smuggled him out of the gypsy caravan and into the basement chapel of a large and glorious building, which he later learned was the Opera Populaire. That girl had then dragged him to the cellars before leaving him alone for the night. A while later, Erik came to his senses and began exploring the, searching for someplace warm, dry, and free of vermin to spend the night. He'd ended up in the corner of a cellar room with a ratty blanket, a luxury compared to his former cage.

When dawn came, so did the young girl. She introduced herself as Antoinette, and became the first true friend Erik had ever known. She told him of the hidden tunnels and the huge lake that lay beneath their feet, and it was there that he decided to make his home. He found his way into a cavern of at least a dozen cave entrances and began to mark them with chalk so that he would not get lost. Then he found the lake that Antoinette spoken of, as well as the large, open spaces with niches for him to set up the house that he had always dreamed of.

Time passed, and with it emerged Erik's hidden talents. He'd never known that he could actually create things, and yet, from his fingertips emerged so many beautiful creations. Ironic that a man with an ugly face could make such delicate and intricate works of art, but for some reason, it made him feel better, knowing that, although he had killed once, he could rise above that. Music boxes, handmade toys and models, an elaborate bed, and even his own clothing where all made with his own two hands. Even his voice became beautiful, thanks to the music instructions he had found abandoned in a hallway one night. From the books that Antoinette brought him, Erik learned how to read, write, calculate numbers, and so much more. The trapdoors and hidden passageways were all of his own creative patience, and had taken years to make without anyone knowing.

However, all of his materials had to come from somewhere. Erik raided the trash heaps that were created before, during, and after a performance, all for the treasure troves they were. Precious paints, inks, dulled tools that could easily be sharpened again, wood, metal scraps, all of these became his. The marvelous cloths that were deemed inappropriate for performances vanished into thin air, and any stage prop that had a practical use, like a cup or a teapot, was spirited away the moment the doors to the prop rooms were closed. Food that was left too long unattended became his, and there was always plenty of it, given that there were so many dishes made and so few cooks to guard them.

Eventually, material goods were not enough for him. Upon reaching adulthood, Erik began to try and learn as much as possible about the people frequenting the Opera House. Up above his head, people walked about in fashionable clothes and gossiped about money and power, and Erik listened to them all. He quickly learned that money and power were one in the same, and that, if he wanted both, he would have to get them from somewhere…so why not the fools running the Populaire? They already feared that the place was haunted by a ghost, thanks to the things he had been stealing, so why not take it a step further? Soon, notes written in red ink were appearing rapidly on the desks of the Opera House's managers, asking for the staggering monthly sum of 20,000 francs. All of were signed O.G. and a skull seal, causing everyone to call the frightening being The Opera Ghost.

Before a year had gone by, Antoinette had set up an account for him to store his new-found wealth. After that, Erik began ordering his clothing from a shop so that he could spend more time working on his art and music, both of which became as natural to him as breathing. To thank his friend, he paid the now Madame Antoinette Giry a handsome sum for keeping silent about him, as well as for running his errands and collecting his monthly payments. By now, any ordinary person would have been happy with their life of wealth and art, and Erik was, to a point, happy with his situation in life…except for one thing: the need for love, acceptance, and a wife.

Then, one day, Erik discovered the answer to his prayers amongst the books in the Populaire's library. Once he had created a secret door into it, the treasure trove of books was open to him night or day. After sorting through the stacks, he stumbled upon an ancient text that was in an odd language he'd never seen before. Always one for a challenge, Erik smuggled it down to his home and began to decipher it, hoping to unlock its secrets. Months of tireless work yielded something that was something beautiful and unique, something he did not expect: a book of spells…magic spells.

At first, Erik had dismissed it as the ravings of a mad writer, a person who thought that magic was real and could be used as a tool to get what they wanted. However, he had nothing better to do with his time, and so he partook in a random spell that seemed as though it could be useful. The book said it was a spell for fire, creating a flame that could be summoned to even the most rain-soaked wood. Since Erik lived in a cave on a lake, the moisture in the air tended to put out his candles more frequently than he liked; to have a flame that would burn despite the wet air would be useful indeed.

To his amazement, the spell worked. The candles in the cave would light whenever he summoned them to, and would only go out if he blew them out or "waved" them out. After that, Erik began thumbing through the book, searching for other things that might be useful. Most, however, were things he was uninterested in. Some spells were for seeing the past or the future, which Erik dismissed immediately; he could read about the past in a book, and as for the future, he was a man who would like to make his own, not follow a laid-out plan. A few were protection spells for the home against thieves, and these he dismissed as well, since he had spent years perfecting his traps for unwanted visitors. Just when he was about to throw the now-useless volume aside, he found it.

It was a spell to find his true love.

As a high note of music erupted from the auditorium, Erik shook himself back to the present. 'I must be getting old, getting lost in old memories,' he thought to himself as he prepared to open the door.

In truth, he was old…170-years-old, or older, given that he did not know his birth date or year. In these modern times, he'd been forced to choose different days and years as his birthdates for his birth certificates, and that in itself was a difficult thing to achieve. However, money could literally buy everything, and with the vast amount of wealth he had managed to accumulate over the decades, money really was no object.

'I just wish that blasted spell hadn't backfired,' Erik thought as he began to turn the knob to the door to the backstage area.

In his desperation to find a woman that would love him despite his face, he had cast a complicated spell that would bring his beloved to him. Three months later, a little girl by the name of Christine Daae was led into the Opera Populaire by his friend, Antoinette Giry. At the time, he hadn't thought much of the girl, but when she began to sing in her lovely voice, all of his doubts flew away.

'Angel of Music,' Erik thought with a snort of contempt towards himself.

He had put on that guise in order to try and woo Christine from the moment he'd heard her voice, hoping to mold her into the woman and great singer he knew she could be. Singing lessons guided by him, the "Angel of Music," Erik taught Christine how to improve her talents, and as she grew, Erik knew that she would be a great beauty; a shy, sweet, talented, great beauty for the horrible monster who lived beneath the Opera House.

A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he paused before the doorway. 'I was a fool.'

When Christine had passed her 18th birthday and made her debut in the performance of Hannibal, Erik felt that she had been ready to see him. She was grown into her full potential and her luminous beauty, and would therefore be ready to see him, her beloved admirer and teacher. That night, before her childhood sweetheart and friend, Raoul, could take her to an evening dinner, Erik had swept in and whisked her away to his home. The caverns had been lit so that his finest pieces of art were accented, and all of it had been arranged to impress the young woman who gazed at him with adoring eyes. In the enchanting light of his home, Erik used his voice to show how glorious his world could be if she simply gave in to the darkness and to their inevitable love. She had fainted at the sight of her created image in the wedding gown, and he had laid her down in the bed he had made for her. A few hours later, it had all fallen apart: Christine had awoken and, in a fit of curiosity, removed his mask. His heart had broken as she cowered away in fear, her hands shaky as she returned the mask to him. Deep down, he should have known that Christine was not the love he was waiting for, but had convinced himself that she merely needed to spend more time with him in order to truly see her love for him.

After releasing Christine back into Madame Giry's hands in time for Il Muto, the pursuit had begun. He sent demands for Christine to become the new Prima Donna, as Carlotta was far past her prime. When the foolish managers had disobeyed, it was Carlotta and Joseph Bouquet who paid the price for their incompetence. To show Christine his love, Erik had begun writing Don Juan Triumphant after discovering her with her precious Raoul on the roof of Populaire. His appearance at the New Year's Eve Masquerade had been a success, and the opera had been performed, all according to plan.

In the end, it had all been in vain. The Opera House was in ruins, Christine was crying, and Raoul looked like a defeated, beaten puppy as he stood tied to the gates leading to the Phantom's home. Erik could feel failure and loneliness swell up in him as he realized that Christine was not the one he had asked for. Reluctantly, he had released the two young lovers, turning his back to them as they faded away into the caves. In his despair, Erik had been ready to end his meaningless life with a bullet to the head when a voice commanded him to put down his weapon.

In his surprise, Erik had dropped the pistol and looked around, wondering if he had truly gone mad this time. There was no one there and nothing out of the ordinary, but the voice was so powerful, it reached right down to his bones, causing him to collapse to his knees.

You will not die in this manner, nor will you die alone and in despair. Your beloved will come, but are you willing to wait for her?

Erik had nodded in reply, his eyes searching for the source of the voice.

Then live, Erik Garnier, until your spell is complete. Magic is not to be used lightly, and the spell you cast is powerful enough to cross distances you never dreamed of. Your beloved comes to Paris from a time and place far away from here, and the spell requires you to live until you find her. The price you must pay to meet the other half of your heart is this: you cannot die, either from old age or from wounds. Take the funds you have gathered and live well and honestly, until the day your heart sees its mate.

Then the voice had disappeared, and Erik was left to himself.

Since that night, Erik tried to become an honest man. After Madame Giry had forgiven him for what he had done, she had helped to set him up in his own house outside of Paris. It had formerly belonged to a noble, but the man no longer enjoyed the pleasures of France, and had gone off to the prospects of America. Once comfortably settled in his new abode, Erik had settled down to compose new pieces of music. He was no fool, and he knew that the funds he had extorted from the Opera House would not last forever, despite it being a very large amount. Since he was a recluse, composing pieces from his home and selling them for money would have to be his form of employment.

Unfortunately, no one seemed interested in the musical works he had to offer. Most thought that the pieces were too dark or too inappropriate to be put into production, and had simply been returned to him through the mail. Discouraged, but by no means defeated, Erik had fallen back on a different means to earn a living, mainly that of architecture. To his astonishment, his designs became quite popular amongst the wealthy, and he was able to double his bank account within a few years. When he felt rich enough to not have to work for quite some time, he vanished, locking himself away from the world. He turned his attention back towards his music and crafting art pieces for his home.

Until the day she died in 1921, Madame Giry was able to help Erik disappear and reappear at will, her efforts always well-rewarded. Once she was gone, however, Erik had been forced to rely on her daughter, Meg, and her grandchildren before being able to do so without any sort of aid. Thankfully, after the last Giry grandchild had married and had children of her own, Erik was able to operate his own disappearing-reappearing scheme without help. Since architects were always in need, Erik was able to put his reclusive self and skills to good use whenever his funds ran low.

In 1980, Erik had emerged in another incarnation of himself, appearing just in time to meet an English composer named Andrew Lloyd Webber. The man had come to France researching the legendary Phantom of the Opera, intent on making it into what was modernly known as a "musical." As it so happened, Erik had a story to tell him, one that was far more truthful than the nonsense written by that author Leroux and the people of the French newspapers.

During the 1900's, Leroux had stumbled upon old tales about Erik's time as the Phantom; the unfortunate result had been a completely false tale about the Opera House events. Erik had come across the published work on one of his trips to a bookstore, and had been furious at the falsehoods on his age, his deformity, and the way poor Christine had been portrayed as an empty-headed twit. Nor did he approve of the scandalous thought that a child had resulted from an event that had never happened! After reading that tripe and cursing the name of the author repeatedly, Erik had vowed that people would know the truth about what had happened at the Populaire. Now his chance had come.

Erik and Andrew had met at the rebuilt Populaire, now named the Paris Opera House. Erik had not set foot anywhere near that part of Paris since the fire, preferring his country estate outside the city or his house in London, which he had purchased in the 1920's. That particular day, however, something told him to go to Paris and to the place where it had all began. Sure enough, he had stepped foot inside the immense building, bumped right into the clever Englishman, and the two began talking. Andrew explained that he needed inspiration on the matter of the Phantom, and Erik 'happened' to mention that he had already done such research on the Ghost himself. Needless to say, Andrew made quick work of becoming friends with Erik, and the two quickly put their heads together.

As a man who had lived longer than mortals should, Erik knew that he would never be believed if he admitted to being the real Phantom. In the end, he decided to "suggest" to Andrew how to make the music sound in the production, gradually making the notes and lyrics sound like the songs that Erik himself had written over one hundred years ago for Christine. His partner was thrilled, and the two quickly threw together a script written around the songs that Erik had created. They even agreed to let Andrew's then-wife, Sarah Brightman, have the role of Christine. However, there was one problem with the piece: neither man knew how to end the story. Erik could not tell the truth, and he certainly did not want people to know what had happened after he had fled the burning building and his cavern home. Also, Andrew didn't like the fact that the poor Phantom might have died alone in the house on the lake, alone and unloved, and did not want the audience to leave the theater depressed about the Phantom's fate. Finally, both decided to end it with the disappearance of the Phantom and the finding of his mask in the cave.

Never in Erik's wildest dreams had he dreamed of the production being so popular. He had given Andrew all of the credit for its creation, but his partner generously gave him half of the profits brought in through ticket sales and the memorabilia sold during and after the performances. That had been over twenty years ago, and Erik hadn't had to work another day in his life since then. Deciding to splurge a bit on something that he longed to own, Erik spent a sizable amount of his money by purchasing his former home…namely that of the Paris Opera House.

The music coming from the auditorium ended, and Erik snapped out of the daze he had been in; songs from the musical about his life always tended to make him lost in memories he longed to forget.

'Not even money could make me forget my life, or my face,' he thought, pushing the door open slightly to see inside.

So many years of watching the world change, and still it did not welcome him with open arms. Each time he had emerged in a new identity, many people shunned him because of his mask, forcing him to eventually retreat back into the shadows of one of his homes. In London or Paris, it was all the same: women feared or were disgusted by the fact that he wore a mask, many turning away in disgust or merely spending time with him due to pity or a sick curiosity of what might lay behind the mask. The only ones who showed even the faintest interest in him only did so after learning about how much money he had in the bank.

'And it was one of those greedy little fools that told me to get that new thing called plastic surgery.' Just the idea of a knife touching his face made him wince. 'No, I will have a woman love me as I am, or not at all! True love endures ugliness and sees beyond money; I have no use for a mistress, nor someone who is interested in bedding a masked man for one night!'

He took a step inside and looked around backstage. No one was there, but he could hear the start of the overture for the Phantom of the Opera song starting.

'Another obsessed fanatic,' he thought in annoyance. 'Far too many of those around here for my taste; the little things are always around, chattering and giggling. The guards chase them off, but this one must be special to be let in here…unless the guard didn't know about her getting in here…'

Erik took another step towards the curtain that separated the rear of the stage from the audience chamber. The song was coming to an end, and another would soon start up again, covering his footsteps so that he could surprise the "phantom fanatic" and tell her (they were rarely men) to leave. A smirk pulled at his lips, reminding him of the glorious days where he used to scare the daylights out of the chorus girls and tiny ballerinas.

'Perhaps it is time for me to re-sharpen those skills,' he thought as he slowly pushed the curtain aside and peeked through.

There stood a young woman of small stature, the top of her head barely coming up to the middle of Erik's chest. She had long brown hair that sparkled with red, and was wearing a simple outfit of blue jeans, a red blouse, black running shoes, and a large canvas traveling bag. Beside her on the floor was a speaker connected to an iPod which sat in her hand, both of which were the sources of the music floating through the air. She didn't seem to be moving, so Erik decided to slide up next to her and startle her in his nearly-lost style of the Phantom.

His plan was in vain, though, for as he looked at her profile, he saw that her eyes were closed. A small smile was on her lips, and she appeared to be lost in a dream or fantasy. In spite of himself, Erik found himself feeling curious about this girl, and positioned himself so that he could look at her face. The moment he laid eyes on her, his heart seemed to stop in his chest. He then realized that he had found what he had been waiting for all his life.

AN: How was that? Long and lots of explanations, but hopefully it worked out okay. I hope I didn't forget anything. Review!