A/N: Thank you all for the reviews. The first chapters are all background but remember to keep them in mind as you read. These next chapters are also background but soon Erik and Christine will be interacting more. Stick with it and thank you again!

Chapter 7- When We Dance

Sweat trickled down her spine, she could feel the bottom of her back dampen with every move she did, every leap she made. Rehearsal was still not over though and she needed to work hard to make the grade for the new opera. Her arm curled in time with the other dancers and she jumped in the air, swinging her arm back down and around so that it was now tucked behind her. The other girls had done the same, in perfect time, and Christine could feel her nerves start to tingle. Today was the day that Madame Giry made her final decision.

She shuffled backwards on her tiptoes, bowing her head down, so that she fell in line with the other girls around the edge of the back of the stage. Shadow fell on her and she was glad for the moments break as Meg took her turn alone on the stage. She watched as her friend pirouetted and leapt high with her graceful arms out along side her, she looked peaceful as she danced, unconcerned about error, a smile graced her lips. Christine longed to be so agile and respected. Though Meg was young the others saw her as easily the best naturally gifted dancer their. Christine may have expected envy at this, jealous back biting, but instead she found that they befriended her and supported her. Meg was lucky to have such good genes.

Christine and the other members of the chorus moved quickly back onto the stage, keeping themselves low to the floor at first and then standing when they reached the front. She felt the ache in her legs but pushed forward, knowing how important it was to be chosen for the show.

When they music stopped the girls were on the floor, heads bowed, this would be where the curtain was to fall. They waited.

'Very good,' Madame Giry said, walked onto the stage and standing in front of them. 'Stand, stand,'

The girls obeyed.

'You did well,' she said, looking at each of them in turn. 'I will inform you of my decision before the day is out,'

She turned and walked away, disappearing into the blackness behind the stage.

Christine watched after her, a little surprised at the lack of critique but pleased that she could now go and wash.

The other girls had gathered into a huddle in the corner of the stage, Meg was to the side and they were all whispering. Christine was the only one not included and she felt a sudden pang of hurt. Were they whispering about her?

'Do you think he will be pleased?' She heard one of the girls say nervously to Meg as the crowd disbanded.

Meg glanced around her and made a shrugging gesture but she said nothing. Another girl, Janine, walked up behind them;

'He will be pleased,' she said. 'How could he not?'

Again Meg remained silent.

The other girl gave a smile. 'I hope so but he has been displeased before...'

'Don't worry,'

Finally, Meg stopped walking and stared at the two young girls with her. Her eyes were stern and body looked tense.

'Do you two simply not know when to stop?' she asked, with what sounded like fear tinting her tone. The two girls did not reply but looked down at their feet. 'You know what he is capable of yet you continue to act as if you know him... as if it is alright to speak of him here!'

'Sorry,' Janine murmured.

'Don't be sorry to me,' Meg said angrily. 'Don't apologise to me... I am not the one who will be angry,'

'Then who do I say sorry to?' she asked.

'Him,'

'How?'

Meg shook her head. 'Just say it,' she said. 'He will hear... he knows,'

The other girl took a breath and nodded. 'Sorry,' she said, looking up into the air.

Christine stood still and in silence watching the girls nervously part.

'Meg,' she called when Janine had finally walked away. Meg turned and looked at her making no move towards her. Instead, Christine was forced to make her way to her friend.

'You were great today,' Meg said, smiling and squeezing Christine in a brief, yet warm, hug.

'Thank you,' Christine accepted the kind compliment. 'I only hope I am chosen,'

'I am sure you will be,' Meg said. 'You have been dancing really well,'

Christine nodded and smiled. 'Can I ask... erm...'

Meg stared at her in silence.

'What was that?'

'What?' asked Meg.

'What you and Janine were talking about?' Christine replied. 'I'm sorry, I could not help but overhear and...'

Meg shook her head. 'It is nothing,'

'Oh,'

'Really Christine,' Meg said, placing her hand on Christine's arm and squeezing gently. She leaned forward and whispered, 'I can not tell you here,'

Christine nodded.

'I will speak to you tonight, I need to get washed,' Meg said, giving Christine's arm another squeeze.

Christine watched as her friend wandered away and finally, disappeared behind the curtains. Along on the huge stage of the Opera Populair she suddenly felt very small and insignificant. The balconies towered around her and rows and rows of seats stared back when she looked out. Her heart jumped at the prospect of performing on this stage in front of thousands of people from all over the world.

'You should not ask to many questions of poor Meg,'

She jumped and spun around, hand clasping at the material of her dress closest to her heart.

Joseph Buquet smiled. 'She will not tell you herself,'

Christine allowed her heart to slow to it's normal rhythm before she attempted to speak. 'You really shouldn't sneak up on people like that,'

'I didn't sneak up on you,' Joseph said, watery blue eyes fixed on her face. 'You were in a world of your own.'

'What won't Meg tell me?' she asked

'About the ghost,' he said simply.

'I don't believe in ghosts,' she said simply and turned to walk away.

'Maybe you should start believing,' he said.

'Why? What evidence is there of ghosts here,'

'Not plural,' he said, a gappy smile appearing on his face. 'One ghost, only one ghost,'

'Fine,' Christine huffed. 'This one ghost then...'

'You will soon find out for yourself,' Joseph said simply, picking up his mop and beginning to wet the stage.

'How?'

'He is everywhere, mademoiselle,' Joseph responded as he pushed the mop head along the floor, smearing soapy water everywhere.

'I have not seen him,'

Something in this caused Joseph to stop cleaning the floor and laugh hysterically.

'What is so funny?' she demanded.

'He is a ghost,' he said. 'You don't see him...'

'Then how do you know he is there?' she asked, growing a little bit impatient with every passing second.

'How do you know any ghost is there?' he countered.

'Well,' she said. 'As I don't believe that ghosts exist I'm not really sure how you expect me to answer that question,'

'He exists,' Joseph sighed, not laughing anymore, a serious expression looking back at her. 'You will notice things are there that were not before... things will disappear and reappear somewhere obscure...'

Christine listened.

'You will see notes sometimes,' he continued. 'If you have angered him... occasionally he will speak, he destroys things... leaves nooses hanging in the corridors,'

Christine swallowed.

'He runs this theatre,' Joseph sighed. 'Make no mistakes at all, he owns us,'

Christine stared at the stage hand as he continued his task, smearing the boards as he moved sideways. She wondered if now would be a good time to start believing in ghosts. The voice she had heard the other day certainly seemed to come from nowhere yet be all around her in an instant. She could not see him or find him, she could barely see her own hand in front of her face yet he had opened the door for her and then somehow been gone before the light flooded the room.

She was in no doubt now that she had been in that corridor. Had she already spoken to the ghost? And if this were the case, why did everyone seem so frightened of him. If she were honest in her opinion she would have to say that he seemed almost nice...

Antoinette Giry rolled her eyes at opera manager Lefevre's frantic mumblings. She did not care if he saw her bemusement at the way he reacted to things, in fact, she thought it about time someone told him quite how foolish he had become.

'So you see, Madame Giry,' he said, pacing back and forth like some caged creature. 'I simply cannot allow the girls to go wandering around the corridors like the own the building...'

'Monsieur Lefevre, I hardly think they do that...' she said.

'One did!' he corrected abruptly, standing suddenly still, fixing her with his washed out eyes. 'I saw her, she was wandering around... that new girl, Christine isn't it? Yes, her...'

Antoinette took a deep breath to calm herself and stop her hands from connecting with his throat. It was not as though he was bad type of man but he had no control over himself anymore, no willpower. He had knee jerk reactions to the silliest of things and his nerves were constantly frayed.

'Christine lives here,' she said, in the softest tone she could muster. 'You know that, she was probably going for dinner...'

He was shaking his head so violently she thought that he might shake it off. Briefly she wondered if this would be such a bad thing.

'No, no, no,' he huffed. 'She was attempting to get into the locked corridor,'

Antoinette rolled her eyes again. 'Then you have nothing to worry about,' she said. 'The door was locked, she could not get in,'

'She should not even have been trying,' he said slumping into his chair.

'Oh, Monsieur, she is young, she wishes to explore,' Antoinette said. 'There is no harm done,'

Lefrevre looked up at her with disdain and slammed his hand onto the desk. 'What if he doesn't see it that way??'

She stared at him.

'Well?' he asked. 'Answer me that! What if he doesn't... hmm? That is his corridor, you and I both know it, what if he is angered?'

'I'm sure you would have heard by now if he was,'

He remained silent, picking the skin around his fingers. Antoinette opened her mouth to tell him to stop being so disgusting but stopped herself. She knew that his nerves were completely shot, gone with the wind as it were. He had no backbone anymore because he simply could not explain the goings on of the Opera House.

'Have you heard from him?' she asked finally, beginning to edge her way to the office door.

'No,' he said, his voice hoarse.

'Then one might suggest that he either does not care or has not noticed,' she said but at this statement Lefevre let out a harsh laugh and began shaking his head.

'Hasn't noticed,' he said, chuckling in the most disturbing manner. 'He notices everything, Madame, absolutely everything,'

She turned and opened the door.

'Do you still pay him?' she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

'Yes,'

'Then I am sure he can forgive some inconsistencies,' she said and let the door click shut behind her.

When she arrived at Christine's room at the back of the theatre she found the door open and Christine brushing dust from her floor out into the hallway for the cleaners. It was a moment before Christine spotted her and in that time Antoinette inspected her Goddaughter. How beautiful she was. She remembered her very well as a child, the dark hair and wide, brown eyes but then she was not pretty.

Not ugly, but not pretty. Rather plain if a person was pushed for a description.

Looking at her now only the chocolate eyes gave her away. She was almost a different person entirely and she had been through a great deal in her short life.

Christine waved and smiled when she noticed her. 'Come on in,' she said, stepping into her room.

Antoinette followed her and closed the door behind her. The room had been made to look very much like a home. Christine had put drapes on some of the walls as make shift wallpaper. It looked tres chic and Antoinette found herself, not for the first time, impressed by the way the young woman had managed to settle in.

Christine shone her a bright smile and sat in the stool near to her dressing table. 'To what do I owe this pleasure?' she asked.

'I need to speak with you,' Antoinette said, thinking that the near truth would be the best option. Or at least the truth that everyone else was used to.

'Oh,' Christine said. 'You look so serious Madame, is everything well?'

Antoinette nodded. 'Nothing for us to be too concerned with... but...'

Suddenly, Christine flashed her a warm smile. 'Let me guess, are you hear to tell me about the Opera Ghost?'

Antoinette frowned, she knew? 'Yes, who ...'

'Joseph Buquet told me earlier today,'

'He should not have done,' she snapped, suddenly concerned for Joseph, and Christine's, safety.

'Why on earth not?' Christine asked. 'I have got the impression that it's really quite common knowledge,'

'Yes, it is common knowledge but we do not discuss it,'

'You are discussing it now,' Christine argued.

'We do not talk about him,' she said simply. 'He is bad tempered and dangerous,'

'A dangerous ghost?' Christine asked. 'What has he done to prove that he might be dangerous?'

Antoinette paused for a moment, wondering how much detail was necessary, how much she should tell her Goddaughter. The truth was different to the rumours, Antoinette knew better than anyone that there was no ghost, but some facts still remained.

Erik stole things, Erik was anywhere and everywhere, Erik had killed...

'Some people have... died under the most unfortunate of circumstances,' she said finally, surveying Christine's face for clues as to what she was thinking, what reaction she would get.

'A ghost that murders people?'

Antoinette said nothing.

'So what do we call this ghost, do we know why he haunts us?'

'Everyone calls him the Phantom,' Antoinette said simply. 'And I suppose he haunts us because we are in his home,'

'Was he here first then?' Christine asked. 'This... ghost?'

She shrugged. 'I don't know,'

Christine seemed to think for a moment before wandering to the dressing table and lifting something from the back of it.

'Would a ghost leave a rose?' she asked, holding it out in front of her.

Antoinette's breath caught in her throat as she stared red rose, wrapped in black ribbon. She knew the signature. Erik had sent Christine Daae a rose and Antoinette, better than anyone else, knew what this meant.

'Madame?' Christine's voice shook her from her trance.

'Sorry?'

'Do you like it?' Christine said as if repeating herself. 'Someone left it in the door knocker for me,'

'It's...' from Erik. 'Pretty,'

'Any idea who it might be from?' Christine asked and all Antoinette could do in response was shake her head. Her throat was dry and felt as though it was closing up.

She made her excuses to Christine and left as quickly as she could. Part of her so desperately wanted, for the first time in years, to run down to Erik, to speak to him, to know what was going through his mind. She knew that she could not do this...but the sight of the rose meant one thing to her and
that was that Erik was finding his confidence again and this time his focus was Christine.