Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera. Pity, 'cos if I did I'd probably make this idea into a film, because I think it's so good. Oh well, ho hum.

Once again, I must disappoint all you avid Phantom lovers – Erik isn't going to appear for at least another two or three chapters or so after this one, while I set the scene of Raoul and Christine's engagement, and all that sort of stuff that you lot hate, and R/C fans love. Anyway, technically there isn't much for Erik to do at the moment, since he's basically dead-dead at this point, instead of just dead, as he will be later on. In any case, when he does come in, he's going to dominate pretty much every scene he's in; so I'm making the most of when he's not around, I guess.

Also, I think that some of you might be feeling that Christine's is acting pretty cold towards Raoul at this moment – or if not cold, then at least distant. Well, what did you expect? The girl hasn't seen him in six years; and now they're expected to get married in a few weeks. Added to this is the fact that she's diving into a relatively new world, and fears of 'drowning', so to speak. Don't worry, emotion will come out – in fact, there's already some chemistry between them. It's very controlled, of course, since this is the nineteenth century – but it's there. It's there! And it'll increase as time goes on.

Reunion

Raoul gazed feverishly at himself in the dressing table mirror, as he distractedly straightened his bow tie. Though with his eyes he saw his reflection, in his mind he saw only the beautiful face of his childhood friend, now grown into womanhood.

Christine…

The short, slightly chubby, sweetly petite girl of six years ago had gone forever, to be replaced with a tall, graceful young woman, and an extremely attractive one at that. But at first he had hardly been aware of that; he had instead been caught and held by her gaze, as she had turned around to look at him.

At first glance her eyes seemed hardly to have changed at all since she was a little girl; they were still the same gentle, chocolate brown orbs that he remembered, shining with vibrancy and life when skating on the ice or playing together; but at the same time so different – so much older, so much sadder, so much wiser. The vibrancy and life, the innocence of youth was still there, but now present was regret, and sorrow as well – and a certain amount of resignation.

He had hardly remembered what had transpired after that, save that he had risen to kiss her hand when the girls had risen to be escorted to their rooms. And after the quick, respectful kiss, when he stolen the chance to look at her directly – he had not dared to after the first sight of her – she had been looking down at him with her beautiful brown eyes filled with some strange emotion – what was it? Surprise? Reluctance? Acceptance? Could it have been…affection?

Could she actually come, in time, to love him? Love him as a husband, rather than just a friend from childhood? He had never thought that, when – if – he and Christine eventually married, they could ever love each other as more than brother and sister. When they had played together as children, they had always been aware of the fact that they were, in essence, betrothed; but it had never occurred to them, while they were still together, that there would ever be anything other than infant attachment between them. When they had read stories together, of princes and princesses, they had never imagined that such romances would be theirs.

But now, here they were, on the eve of their official engagement; and he felt as if he had butterflies in his stomach – though not necessarily in a bad way.

Is she thinking in this way? Would she – could she be thinking of me at this moment?

For a moment, he indulged himself with the thought of Christine at her dressing table, brushing her long, dark brown curls – those she had retained from childhood as well – looking at herself in the mirror. It was a nice image; but was it a reality? And were the thoughts he wondered of in her head as well?

There was a quick knock on the door; immediately afterwards it opened. Raoul didn't even need to turn around to see who it was.

"There is such a thing as waiting for an answer to a knock before you come into a room, Philippe," he said, without bothering to turn around.

"It saves time" the older de Chagny stated bluntly, as he strode across the room to where he stood by the dressing table. "Hurry up; you've got to be at the table – and it would be terrible bad manners to arrive late and after your future bride, wouldn't it?"

Raoul grimaced in a mock nature, as he turned away from the mirror. "You do know how to ruin an evening, Philippe."

"Ah, but I doubt the evening will be ruined for you, little brother," Philippe replied jokingly, slapping him hard on the back. "From what I've seen, you might enjoy this dinner more than any other in the past few days."

"And why would you think that?"

"Well for one thing, you'll be able to examine a certain pair of chocolate brown eyes a lot more thoroughly without running the risk of getting caught."

That was too much for Raoul. "I can't imagine what you mean." Even as he spoke stiffly, secretly he was worried. Had he made an idiot of himself? Was everyone aware of him staring at Christine? What must she herself think? All his anticipation of the evening slipped away as if the carpet had been pulled out from under him.

Philippe patting him on the shoulder; more gently this time. "There's no need to be offended. I saw how you looked at her – and how she looked at you. I should forget your worries about her not liking you – hers eyes fairly lit up when she saw you." The older brother smiled at the look on his younger brother's face.

"Really?" Had her eyes lit up? He hadn't noticed, and those had been what had caught and held his attention. But then again, maybe he was too preoccupied with examining the new factors in them…

"Come on, Raoul," Philippe said, taking him by the arm and steering him out of the room. "It's dinner time; and you must seat your future wife at the table."

Raoul leant against the window frame, and gazed through the window out over the cold, white, dead grounds of the family estate. Normally he would stand straight and tall; but he was taking advantage of the fact that no one was paying attention to him, for once, and not continually hold himself as stiff as a board.

Of course, if Grandpere was looking at him now he would not be pleased. But at the moment Grandpere was in the adjoining room; was listening, with the others, to Carlotta sing, and play the piano. That was one of the reasons why he was in the next room – although Carlotta could play the instrument proficiently enough her voice, while initially good, was nowhere near as proficient as her playing. She made it work far too hard, and consequently the effect was often enough to make one cringe slightly, however polite one was.

They had been subjugated to various recitals ever since Carlotta had first arrived, about a fortnight ago now; but since they were all so very polite, because of their upbringing, none of them had told her that though they were happy enough to have her play, they would prefer it if she did not sing quite so loudly. So Carlotta continued to belt out tunes at her full range, and those who listened to her continued to cringe.

But Raoul would have been perfectly willing to sit through yet another recital, were it not for the fact that Christine was seated right opposite him. That he would not have been able to stand.

He had made a fool of himself during the dinner; after seating Christine, as her future husband, he had continually cast glances at her across the table, when he believed her not to be watching, simply to have a chance of seeing her beloved face. But their eyes had inevitably met; and from the way she had looked at him had been enough to make him choke on his mouthful with surprise. Consequently he had had to be hit hard on the back by Philippe to stop him from choking on the half chewed fillet of beef; and in the process his hand had unconsciously flown out and he had knocked over both his fairly full wine glass and a candlestick; only the very swift action of Bernard had saved the whole table from going up in flames. He had, understandably, been so embarrassed he hadn't dared to meet Christine's gaze again for the rest of the dinner – or the recital afterwards.

What must she think of me? What kind of dolt does she think she's getting for a husband? His cheeks still burnt with shame when he thought of it – not least the fact that Meg, her friend, could not stop giggling, even if it was silently, for some time afterwards, and was constantly whispering in Christine's ear, and glancing at him unashamedly, before turning back to her friend. And they expected him to stay calm, with that sort of background? They obviously did, judging by the glares Grandpere shot him throughout the rest of the dinner, and the disapproving expression Philippe had worn as he hit him on the back; and how Genevieve had sighed, if only once; and the way Celandine had shaken her head, and hidden her eyes with her hand as if she couldn't bear to witness the spectacle anymore.

He looked up at the stars outside, and reasoned to himself that somewhere, out there in the wide world, there must be someone who currently was more mortified and embarrassed than he was.

He wondered idly who it was.

Behind him the recital was over – for which he gave a silent breath of relief and thanks – and there came the customary, though slightly strained, applause; then a murmur of voices. He feared for a moment that there might be an encore; but for the moment the music seemed to be over. He could hear the clinking of glass – there was obviously a topping up of glasses among the men. He did not regret it – his few experiences with brandy had always left him feeling ill; and he was glad to have a few moments of relative quiet, by himself.

So it was all the more surprise when he suddenly heard Christine's voice, quite close behind him, say softly, "Do you think the fairies will come tonight?"

He started, and swiftly turned around, to find that Christine was standing almost right behind him, her head tilted slightly to one side; dressed in one of the gowns which Genevieve had picked and sent off for her as a present, a wonderful creation of wine coloured satin, which left bare her milky shoulders, and emphasised the darkness of her hair; the faintest of smiles on her lips.

For a moment he was so distracted by her sudden appearance, and her closeness, that he was hardly aware of what she had said. "Wh…what?" he said stupidly, realising even as he spoke how ridiculous he must sound to her.

"The fairies," she persisted gently, drawing closer to him. "Do you think they will come tonight?"

He had had time to get a grip on himself, and to realise just what she was talking about. "I don't know," he replied, as seriously as he could. "As you no doubt remember, I never could see them. You always managed to, though; that I do remember."

She smiled in reply. "That I did. Perhaps they were simply more willing to show themselves to me than you."

"Am I supposed to feel complimented by that?"

"It depends on what you believe," Christine replied, drawing closer to him, and looking out of the window herself, as if half expecting a sprite or Korrigan to come flying up to the panes to oblige her. "For example, if you were anything like Comte Philippe the Elder, you would probably be mortified by seeing them – it would mean you had surely lost hold of your senses." After a moment's silence, she turned to look at him; the light of the stars in her eyes. "But I believe I saw them because I wanted to see them."

"What about me?"

"Did you want to see them enough?"

Raoul had no reply to that. Truth be told, he didn't want to reply; by doing so was increasing the chance of breaking this moment of tranquillity between them. He leant back against his side of the window frame, she against hers, and they both looked out at the white, silent world beyond the panes of the window.

Eventually, however, he felt he had to speak. "Did you miss us?"

Christine, smirking, removed her gaze from the view to look at him. "You mean, did I miss you?"

"Well? Did you?" he asked, with a smirk of his own. His embarrassment was quite forgotten by now.

The girl was silent for a while. At length, she said slowly, and more quietly than before, "Very much at first; as much as I missed my father, even though I knew I would see you again eventually. But…" She hesitated, before going on. "Meg and Madame Giry were there for me, and I learnt to get on with my life. And…well, I suppose that, out of sight…"

"…out of mind?" Raoul supplied gently.

Christine bowed her head in acquiescence. "Indeed." She looked up at him, her jovial air now gone, as her sweet face filled with anxiety. "Raoul…I'm sorry if you're offended…"

Raoul had to work hard not to laugh – not at her, though; at her needless anxiety. "I have a confession to make. I hardly thought about you for the past few years as well."

She smiled again. "I never thought I would be glad to hear such words. It shows you just how unpredictable life can be, doesn't it?

"Indeed."

There was another long silence between them; longer even than the first; they stood now almost side by side, gazing at the stars.

But at length Christine said, gently, but with a certain air of mischief in her tone, "You're still embarrassed about the business at dinner, aren't you?"

"I'd hardly thought of it in the last few minutes – until you brought it up. Thank you."

She laughed. "I am sorry! If I had known, I wouldn't have said anything."

"That's all right. I'm glad that at least one thing about you has stayed constant – you still don't have a great amount of tact."

She pouted her lips in mock annoyance. "Oh, well then I will say that I am glad to know that you are still clumsy and accident-prone."

"Touché," he conceded. "But apart from that, we are basically starting all over again."

"What do you mean?"

"We've spent six years apart, Christine. Six years to grow, and change, and alter the way our lives work. Six years to overcome, now that we are together again." He gazed at, and slightly down at, her. "In some ways, we are complete strangers to each other. Tomorrow I propose to you. In a few weeks we will be married. Two almost children, as husband and wife – and almost strangers into the bargain."

"So what will you do?" she replied, playfully mocking, or so it seemed to him. "Profess undying and unending love to me? Fall down on one knee, as in story books?"

Raoul considered this. "Would you like me to?"

That made her laugh, from deep in her chest, almost like a set of scales being sung. "Oh, that is certainly every romantic girl's dream of an ideal proposal – but I am not sure if it would be mine."

"Then shall I simply promise that when married, I shall devote myself to being a good husband and striving for your happiness?"

Her smile softened. "I believe that would be acceptable, Vicomte."

He returned her smile. "I am glad you accept, Mademoiselle Daaé."

"Mademoiselle Daaé!" Comte Philippe the Younger's voice rang out from the adjoining room, making them both turn to face the direction of his voice. "Carlotta has sung enough for now – won't you indulge us with your voice?"

"Oui, Comte Philippe, but of course" Christine replied smoothly. She smiled up at Raoul. "Will you hear me sing, Raoul?"

"Oui, Christine, but of course," he mimicked her. "After all, with your help, I have quite overcome my fatal embarrassment." He inclined his arm. "May I escort you, Mademoiselle?"

"Of course, Monsieur," she replied, slipping her own arm through his, as they set off back to the drawing room; the hands of the linking arms unconsciously clasping once more, as they had done so many years before.

Madame Giry looked up as the two young ones entered the room again, Christine on Raoul's arm, and their hands evidently clasped, for anyone who cared to look. She had to work hard to hide a smile as Raoul proceeded to lead Christine over to the piano, before releasing her to sing, and walking over to sit by Celandine on the sofa opposite her. The accident at supper, apparently, had done nothing to harm the situation after all, judging by the look they shared just before she took her arm away from his.

And now, as Carlotta began to play – now that the girl was no longer singing, she was able to appreciate her playing, and to realise that she was, in fact, quite good; a shame about her voice though – she saw that the young Vicomte was now making no effort to hide his eyes from Christine – though even if he had been ashamed of being caught gazing unabashedly at her it would surely not be now, since everyone was watching the girl.

And when Christine began to sing, she saw that while her voice poured out around the room, and washed over all its occupants, her eyes, while roving the room and her audience, would always return to him, and meet his gaze with her own, and not break it off for ages.

Giry smiled softly, and shook her head. Young love…she knew the two deserved their happiness; but she was glad, surrounded as she was by impetuous, deceptive youth, that she herself was no longer young.

But she must not let herself get too caught up in the flow of events; for she knew that if guard was let down on anyone's side, disaster would occur. Tonight the dear child would sing, and she would be content; but from the moment of the official engagement tomorrow, she would not be off her guard for an instant.

I must keep an eye on him…

Carlotta played. The candles burnt. Christine sang.

And the pair gazed.

REVIEW! PLEASE! IT'S GOING TO BE GOTHIC, I PROMISE!