Author's Note: First of all, apologies for the delay in updates. My Dad came home from London on Monday, so I was obliged to hammer himat Scrabble,and then the internet despised me on Tuesday, so I couldn't update. I know I promised daily updates, and I'm so sorry about the lack of them recently.

Secondly, thanks to the comments and advice of WindPhoenix, I have edited Chatpers 35-37 - no major plot changes, just tidied them up a bit, so if you fancy a read, just letting you know.

And third and lastly, thanks to Shayril, CarolROI, terbear, Busanda, Soignante, Lady Winifred, Mystery Guest (mega thanks for another mega review), Spectralprincess, mildetryth, WindPhoenix and steelelf for the latest reviews. Oh, and I will try and be posting another chapter today because I do believe I owe you guys a double update. Thanks again, and 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 38

When she walked into Vocal Performance, the room fell silent. Carlotta had been regaling everyone with the full extent of her 'injury', and how neither she nor her mother would be settling for such treatment. She had then gone on to debate what state the Ravelle had fallen into to allow such animals to attend. A sandbag had fallen that time, but it had only deterred her briefly, since it had landed ten feet away from anyone. Another was about to fall – one designed to get the message across instead of simply a warning – when Christine had walked into the room.

She had deliberately slowed her walk so that she would not arrive too long before the start of class. Arriving late would earn her the attention she was trying to avoid. Arriving too early risked earning more than just attention. Arriving on time would make her look like a coward, so she had settled for a slightly early arrival.

Every eye was fixed on her as she walked in. She returned the collective gaze steadily, lingering on Carlotta's triumphant look for a few moments before she moved to leave her bag and take her usual place. Professor Gardiner graced the class with his usual obvious presence only a few moments later. The class proceeded as usual – although there was a palpable difference to the atmosphere. Whether it was tension, anticipation or even excitement was left to speculation. Christine left as soon as they'd been dismissed, not giving anyone the chance to talk to her – not that they usually did that much anyway.

This pattern continued in her classes for the rest of the week. She did her work well and participated as much as she could. If ever someone asked her or even raised the subject of what had happened, she brushed them off as politely as she could. Carlotta's glares continued and her fuming increased, seeing as she had yet to be given a chance for retaliation. She had been expecting an apology and had thought up numerous ways of prolonging the mute's discomfort in that situation. But nothing had happened. Her mother had told her that the Dean still hadn't got back to her on the matter and that he'd refused to say why.

She was about to take matters into her own hands after their next VP class, when Professor Gardiner called her over to him.

Her shriek was almost as deafening as the slap had been.

"WHAT!"

"Miss Guidacelli, having listened to the testimony of both yourself and Miss Daaë, the Dean has decided that whilst her actions cannot be condoned, your conduct was not blameless either." Gardiner replied, calmly and quietly.

"So you're telling me that little toad can slap me and I have to apologise for it?"

"No." Carlotta grinned triumphantly. "If you want an apology, you will first need to give one for what you said about her father." Her face fell again. "Miss Daaë will be punished for what she did, but other than that, it has been agreed that any apologies will have to begin with you."

Her face began to bear a remarkable likeness to her hair.

"I will not apologise! She hit me, and if this school was anything like what it's cracked up to be, she wouldn't be getting away with it!" Her voice had risen in volume yet again, and it was beginning to rise in pitch, much to everyone's discomfort.

"She is not 'getting away' with anything."

"Then why aren't you asking her to apologise? I'm the one who got hurt, I'm the victim here! Not some pathetic little wannabe."

"Miss Guidacelli, you were not the first to be hurt, and from what I have heard, the blow you received is nothing to the one that you gave. Miss Daaë has been asked to apologise, and she has said she will – but only on the condition that you apologise for your words first. The Dean and the head of the Board of Trustees have both agreed with her on this point, as have I. Other than that, the matter is closed."

With that he turned and moved over to Christine, leaving the other soprano fuming.

"Miss Daaë, if I were you, I would not expect an apology any time soon. I will let Mr. Poligny and Mr. Debienne know that the matter is now in Miss Guidacelli's hands. You handled yourself well." He added, before leaving.

Christine did not let the smile show on her face – Carlotta was still there, and she was not one to crow – but the warmth she felt at the Professor's words did wonders for her. So she still had the support of the teachers. She finished packing her things away then moved to leave.

Carlotta grabbed her right arm viciously, preventing her from leaving.

"You think you're so clever, Daaë. I don't know what sob story you fed to those old fools, but you're never getting an apology from me. Your father was an idiot to spout out ideas like that, and his daughter takes after him." Christine forgot her pain as the anger surged through her again.

"Christine?" Raoul stuck his head round the door. Carlotta dropped Christine's arm immediately and smiled at the handsome young patron.

"Mr. de Chagny, to what do we owe this honour? I'm afraid class ended a few minutes ago." She simpered.

"Thank you, Miss Guidacelli, I was aware of that. I actually came to see Christine." He held a hand out to his old friend, who took it, grateful for the escape. She probably could have handled Carlotta, but not without getting herself into more trouble. Besides, she was pleased to see a friendly face.

"Are you OK?" he asked tentatively as they began moving along the hallways.

"Yeah. Just a difference of opinion. You know what artistic temperaments can be like." She said with half a smile.

"Did you get into very much trouble for what happened?"

"I don't know yet. I don't have to apologise formally unless she does first, but they still haven't decided what they're going to do with me, other than that."

"Do you want me to put in a good word for you? I am considering being one of their new patrons, after all."

"No! I mean, thank you, but I'd prefer to do this on my own. I mean, I have to earn it. You heard what I said – about why I didn't use my real name. Papa and Mama would have both agreed with me about it. I do appreciate the offer, but it just wouldn't look right."

"OK, Little Lotte. But if there is anything I can do, you will let me know?" He returned, somewhat deflated.

"Thank you, Raoul." She replied, deliberately avoiding answering him. "I have to go now though; I've got a lesson."

"Classes have finished." He said in confusion. Before speculating as to why she would want to lie to him, he remembered their last encounter: "Oh, you mean a voice lesson."

"Yeah, sorry." She said, turning to head away.

"Christine," He stopped her. "I'm not going to be around for a few weeks – I've got classes of my own. I was wondering if we could maybe catch up a bit, before I disappear again."

"I'd like to Raoul, I really would, but I don't know if I can. I've got a pretty tight schedule."

"OK. Look, here's my number, if you find some spare time." He said, giving her a card before finally letting her go after a quick goodbye.

Carlotta had been left seething in the small theatre. But she had not been left alone.

"Now what's a star like you doing letting yourself be walked over by the likes of her?" She whipped round to see the scruffy, portly Master of the Flies ambling her way. There was a distinct smell of alcohol – and a few other things she didn't care to guess – on him; and his overall appearance and manner would usually have had Carlotta turning her nose up at him, if not laughing out right. However, he had managed to say just the right things to her – even if the delivery did leave a lot to be desired.

"I don't let anyone walk over me, Mr. Buquet." She replied with the right amount of indignation.

"That's what I thought. Call me Joe." He grinned. "Now, as I recall, you didn't think too much of our resident Ghost when I gave my little tour."

"An interesting little story for attracting tourists, Mr. Buquet. Surely you don't expect me to take it seriously?" She scoffed.

"What if I was to tell you Madame Giry delivers the notes he sends? And that he's got a house."

"Why would a ghost need a house?" She said, dismissively – although the first titbit had managed to garner her attention.

"Ask your little friend, Daaë." Now she was interested.

"Why should I ask her anything?"

"No reason, 'cept that she's the only one who's ever lived there more than a few days without having an 'accident'. Have you heard of the ghost hunts I do this time of year? Quite the little party we have. Perfect way to celebrate Halloween, don't you think?"

"Perfect." She smiled in return.

Christine hurried to the main theatre, being careful to avoid anyone's notice. It wasn't hard – everyone had gone to lunch or left, depending on their schedules. She was somewhat breathless when she entered the dressing room – which she still couldn't believe was hers.

"So the boy actually consented to let you spend a little time with your angel." Was the greeting she was welcomed with.

"Forgive me, Angel. Car-"

"You say that so often, Christine," She knew she was in trouble. He only ever referred to her by name when whatever emotion he was feeling was a strong one. And the current emotion wasn't good, "so often in fact, I cannot help but wonder if I was wrong in trusting your faithfulness."

"No! Please don't doubt me, my Angel." He had been about to offer a rebuke when he realised she'd called him 'my Angel'. Hers. She had actually claimed him as her own. If only she could acknowledge how true that was.

"Angel?"

"I am still here, child." She let out a barely noticeable sigh of relief; at least he'd calmed down a little.

"I interrupted you." He prompted.

"Carlotta was told that she needed to apologise to me for what she said, before I would be asked to apologise for slapping her."

"A ridiculous condition. You were justified in your actions."

"Thank you, Angel. But I do have a bit of a temper, and I regret letting it get the better of me. I don't regret standing up for my father – I never will – but I don't know that I should have done what I did. But I'm glad you don't disapprove."

"Of course. She did not take it well." It wasn't a question. Had he been watching? Then why was he angry?

"No. And she did not let me leave until she'd gotten the point across." Christine unconsciously began rubbing her arm where it had been grabbed.

"She hurt you?" She realised what she'd been doing.

"It's nothing. She just has a stronger grip than I was expecting." She answered a little too quickly.

"Let me see."

"It's nothing, really."

"Christine-"

"How can I let you see when I don't even know where you are?" She blurted out. "I'm sorry, Angel. I shouldn't have said that." She whispered into the heavy silence that now filled the room.

"You are certain you are unhurt?" The voice that answered was a little thicker than usual.

"Yes. Raoul interrupted before she could try anything beyond words. He's actually going away for a while. Angel, he wouldn't have been a distraction otherwise anyway."

"I believe you, child. Do you have some music for me to see?" His voice light again. The boy was leaving! And he wouldn't have been a distraction. Had Christine truly devoted herself to him so completely? Or was that too much to hope for? There was little he had been able to truly hope for in his life, so whether it was too great or not, he clung to it. After all, only when one hoped for greatness could one have a chance at achieving it.

"Angel, how should . . . where . . ." She had no idea how to ask, based on her previous outburst.

"Place the music on the stand where I have left it. You will need to be able to read it without encumbrance." The stand was placed in front of the mirror, so that the music would be reflected therein, as would Christine. She obeyed, and waited.

"A good adaptation. Your father remained faithful to the music whilst suiting it well for a soprano. The harmonies would not overwhelm a higher voice. Yes, I do believe this will suffice. Now, scales." And so began the lesson.

He could not have said anything more wonderful to her at that point. She did not expect a complement for her own voice – he had not finished his work, nor allowed her to perform beyond what was expected of her during her classes. He was waiting for something, and so she did as was asked of her. But to have her angel praise her father's work that way – even if he wasn't the true Angel of Music, he was certainly qualified for the job – the joy she felt gave her voice wings, and she knew that she performed better in that lesson that in any of her others.

"Very well, child, you will perform this for the Christmas finale. You shall charm them with your voice, but it will not be the time to reveal your true gift."

"Yes, Angel."

"You are disappointed. But wait and I promise: you will bring them to their knees. Go now, child. You have earned a rest." She could not help the smile that time. It was the closest thing to a compliment he had paid her since their lessons had begun.

"Thank you, my Angel."

She'd done it again, as though it were natural, probably not even thinking about it the second time. He had watched her face as she sang. Praising her father's work had lit something up inside of her. She was leaving the shadows behind. If he could inspire her, recapture that hint of ecstasy and make it flourish, then his promise would be kept; for surely she had the power to make even the angels weep.

But how could a creature of darkness, the monster who lurked in the shadows; how could he ever inspire such beauty and light in her?

There was hope. There had to be. She had rejected the friend of her youth for him. She had gone to great lengths to keep his trust. She had proved to be a devoted pupil. She had turned to him in her hour of need. She had wanted, no, needed to hear his voice.

He had his answer.

So long as music held sway over Christine, he had power over her.

She was a child of Music, after all.

And he was her Angel.