The funeral was small, as to abide with Christine's wishes. She had specifically written in her will that it be this way since she did not want "a bunch of rich strangers coming to gawk" at her dead body. Though her will had been written years before her actual death, the wish remained the same throughout the rest of her life.
"Charles" stood at the front of the crowd, stationed next to Raoul, his "father". Tears trailed down his face as he wept and pleaded for her to come back to life, but not a single word he said would make her do so. The young blonde girl, once so lively and cheerful, was nothing but a corpse now.
Raoul watched his son with saddened eyes. He knew how his son had adored Christine, and it was terrible that he had to lose his mother at such a young age. He pitied the young boy for it, yet all the same, people were beginning to stare at Charles for making such a ruckus, and so kneeling down to be level with him, Raoul reminded the boy, "Real men don't cry, Charles."
During his entire life, Charles had never listened to his father at all. Why should he? – the aristocrat had stolen the love of his life! Of course, this had happened when Charles had been Erik, but since they were the same person, the grudge held.
However, the crying stopped. The salty water that stained his red cheeks stopped flowing and eventually disappeared.
This was the beginning of a series of miracles.
A few days after the funeral, both father and son were walking side by side through the streets of Paris. All around them, people were bustling about – this person was going that way, that person was going this way. The two were walking together silently, when Raoul stopped.
Charles rolled his eyes. What was his father doing now? They were going to be late for supper!
The elder de Chagny reached inside his pocket and took out a few coins. Approaching a homeless man on the side of the road, he placed the money into the man's outstretched palm, and with a tip of his hat, wished him well before going on his way.
Confused, the boy caught up with his father and looked questioningly up at him. "Good men help the poor, Charles," was all his father had to say.
Charles stopped and looked back at the man. His clothes were patched and his legs were bent, most definitely meaning he was crippled. Walking cautiously up to him, the nine-year-old placed some money in the beggar's hand before rushing to catch up with his father. The man needed the money more than he.
One week passed. Charles was busy entertaining himself in the large, nearly-empty house. It was proving to be an extremely boring day.
It wasn't like he could just go outside and play with his friends. For starters, he had no friends – he wasn't exactly the most social person in the world. Second, he had no reason to – he was above that age where one wants to play. However, Charles was bored, so he did what any normal bored child would do in a position like his – he went to bother his father.
Raoul was busy in his office holding some type of conference with his fellow businessmen. Upon the boy entering the room, one man frowned severely and said, "Comte, you let your son bother you during your work?"
Paying the man no heed, Charles tugged on his father's sleeve, eyes pleading for the man to take pity on him and not yell at him for interrupting what looked like an important meeting.
Kneeling down, Raoul patted the boy on his head and told him mysteriously, "Successful men have friends."
With a nod, Charles left the house.
Within a week he had acquired a small group of friends. Within two weeks the entire street loved him.
AN: Sorry for the long wait. There was no excuse for that, I guess. I'll try to be better about my next update. Hopefully the story will be done by... Sunday? Monday?