Author's Note: Here's one of two chapters. I did promise a double update, and the next one will follow very soon. This should keep you going in the meantime. I think it might answer a few questions that have been raised - or at least begin to satisfy some curiosity. But please don't hate me for the ending. You'll understand what I mean by that when you've read it.

Thanks again to steelelf, CarolROI, Soignante, Busanda, Squealing Lit. Fan, Lady Winifred, Spectralprincess, WindPhoenix, mildetryth and Rose of Night for their latest reviews. Enjoy! Nedjmet.

Disclaimer: The characters and plotline of the Phantom of the Opera on which this story is based are – to the best of my knowledge – the property of Gaston Leroux and Andrew Lloyd Webber. Nor do I own any of the songs or music used or referred to within this story. No infringement of copyright is intended nor is this story written for profit as I have the greatest respect for their work.

Chapter 30

It was halfway through the term. The class had learnt Siúil a Ruin along with a few other things in order to 'broaden their horizons' and 'enhance their awareness of music'. Carlotta had managed to re-establish herself as the resident diva, since Christine chose to remain in the background – because of which, no one was aware of the progress that she had been making, and most had been inclined to forget the shy little blonde, in spite of her impromptu performance.

Except for Professor Gardiner.

Christine once again found herself in his office after class had ended for the day.

"Well, Miss Day. I did say I would hold off any review of yours for three months, but in light of circumstances both recent and current, I'm afraid I find myself having to break that promise. I hope you'll forgive me."

"It's fine. It'll be nice not to have to worry about it anymore."

"Quite. Well, to begin: your participation in class is, frankly, not what I would hope for in one of my students. I am willing to accept that perhaps this is as a result of all that has happened to you; but you must understand that this is Vocal Performance, and your attitude is simply not that of a performer."

"I know. I am still trying to find my feet, as it were. I thought I'd been doing enough, but I'll try to do more."

"Very well. From what I have managed to hear of you, your voice does appear to be making good progress. Am I to take it that your doctors are satisfied with your recovery?"

"Yes. I had exercises to help restore my voice, and a friend of the family has been giving me lessons as well." She replied, anticipating the next question.

"A friend of the family? This friend has sufficient musical training to give a Ravelle student lessons?"

She smiled, wondering what he would say if he knew her suspicions about her tutor.

"Yes."

"Well, aside from the performance aspect – which I expect to see significant improvement in – your work has been of a high standard, and I am satisfied with your progress."

"Thank you, Professor." Christine breathed out on a sigh of relief.

A review could make or break a student's prospects at Ravelle. If a staff member were to give a poor one, the student would come under very strict scrutiny, and remain so until a second review. If a student received two poor reviews, they would have to re-sit the term's work, and that of the previous term – no matter where they were up to in the calendar. Three poor reviews and the doors of the Ravelle would be closed on them for good. Standards were indeed high, and actually getting into the Institute was only the beginning. Hence, Christine's worry.

"There is something else I would like to speak with you about, if I may detain you a few moments more."

"Yes, Professor?"

"First of all: allow me to thank you again for your work with the students whilst we were working on Siúil a Ruin. I understand that it wasn't the easiest of tasks, but you managed well. Now, I don't know if you have noticed any common traits in the material we have been studying."

"Some of the songs we've been looking at are from Hannibal by Chalumeau; and several of the topics we've studied complement the opera."

"Well spotted. I have been coordinating with the other departments and we are planning to perform Hannibal at the end of this semester. Now, before then we have the obligatory Christmas Concert to get through. I was planning to use the concert as an aid to filling the roles. You understand?"

"Yes."

"When you sang Siúil a Ruin, I was reminded very much of something that we discussed briefly during one of our earlier . . . 'conversations'. You sang it as though you truly were Irish, and – if I may say so – you do bare a striking resemblance to Katie O'Neill. I believe you've heard of her."

"You could say that." Christine replied, trying not to scoff too much. It appeared to go unnoticed by the Professor, who was now in his element.

"I was wondering if perhaps you'd consider performing the finale; sort of a tribute to the great lady. You see, I was – well, still am – a great fan of hers, and I do not believe we would be slighting her memory if you were to sing in honour of her. At risk of being struck down, your talent is not dissimilar to hers."

"The finale?"

"Yes."

"And you want me to . . . impersonate Katie O'Neill?"

"Yes. I would work with you, of course. And were you to do it convincingly, it would be a worthy finale indeed."

"Thank you for the honour, Professor Gardiner, but I must decline."

"You do understand that there is not a person in the entire Ravelle who would not love to be in your current position, Miss Day."

"I understand, Sir; but you must understand that I cannot impersonate Katie O'Neill."

"Why ever not?"

"Something my mother instilled in me from a very young age was that I should never try to be someone else; that I should use my own talents for what they really are. Katie O'Neill believed the same thing. That's why she stayed true to the music, no matter what the managers told her. I guess that's why she had a reputation for being difficult, and for being a true artist."

"Very well, Miss Day. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed, but I can't fault your argument. Perform well in class, and we'll see if we can't find something else for you to do in the finale."

"Thank you, Professor." She said, smiling this time.

She had turned down the finale. The Ravelle Christmas Concerts were not amateur school productions, designed to flaunt the pupils as opposed to the talent; they were actually worthy of being called Concerts. They closed the year triumphantly and whetted the appetites of both audience and critics alike for the shows at the end of each semester.

And she had turned down the finale.

Gardiner would no doubt try to curry his favour, since it looked like the Ghost wouldn't be having his request met. He had played on the teacher's earlier conversation with Christine to have the demand make any sense; to test Christine and see if she would take the opportunity or remain true to music. She had passed: she had turned the professor down.

More to the point she had turned down the finale just the way Katie would have. Who was her mother?

Wait. It couldn't be . . . Those were the words she had used, and now that he thought about it, she was around the right age. It would certainly explain the resemblance; the way she knew the songs, sang them the way she did, even moved the same way.

Was it possible?

She had taken a different surname, so that she would not be accredited for her father's sake. She had only given her mother's married name when asked; possibly for similar reasons.

Was it possible?

If Christine Daaë was indeed the daughter of Katie O'Neill, then by her mother's own words, she was his.

Now all he had to do was find out for certain.

"Well, class, today is the day you have all no doubt been waiting for with bated breath. Today I shall reveal the contents of the show which will conclude your first semester here; the show which will demonstrate your talents and the progress you have all made since entering these hallowed walls; the show which you will spend every waking moment of the next few short months studying and perfecting if you have any desire not to make fools of both yourselves and more importantly, the Ravelle."

There was not a face in the class that didn't look at least worried by the prospect – no matter how excited they had been moments before.

"But first, I believe our theatre managers would like a word with you." He gestured towards two gentlemen who looked as different as chalk and cheese – except for the fact that they couldn't stop smiling – and a third who looked like he probably still ought to be in school along with the rest of them.

"Good morning class. Welcome to the Ravelle, although I'm sure you'll have all settled in by now. I am Richard Firmin, and together with my colleague Michael Andre, may I say that we are all looking forward to getting the latest production under way." Introduced the taller and more slender – relatively speaking – of the two older gentlemen.

"And if I may be permitted, allow me to introduce to you Mr. Raoul de Chagny, whose family are planning to become our latest patrons for this production." continued the shorter and more rotund manager.

All eyes focused on the younger man. The class applauded politely. Some of the girls began staring flirtatiously. And Christine's mouth opened in astonishment.

Raoul?

He had been her closest friend aside from Meg when she was a child. He had listened to her father's stories and been as captivated as she. He had understood the magic of their world and shared in it. She had spent many a night of her youth dreaming of marrying Raoul – the way that little girls do when they find their Prince Charming.

Raoul looked around the circle, nodding politely.

"Thank you. My family is very keen to support the arts, and where better to do that than the Ravelle Institute. We hope to see and contribute to the greatness we have heard so much about. Thank you." With which, he left.

Christine followed him out of the door with her eyes. He had looked right at her; and carried on without even blinking. Had she changed that much? Had he?

Had she really lost the part of her life that had been filled with her father? She had sung his requiem as he had asked; she had tried to begin moving on, and had thought she was succeeding – with a little help from a certain tutor. Was she wrong?

Had she truly lost him?