A/N: Hey, all. Sorry for the lack of updates! I've decided that I'm going to retell PTO to my standards; I'll add some original scenes from the movie, retell them, and totally craft my own.

Please note that this work is based off the 2004 film. I see Christine as Emmy Rossum, Erik and Gerard Butler, Raoul *pukes* as Patrick Wilson, etc. I hope you all enjoy what I have to offer!

I'm going to tell this story launching a little further in. It'll be after Christine's debut performance. Directly after, actually. I just didn't want to delve into things we've already seen, as I assume most of us have watched the film. If you haven't, I highly suggest you do.

Now, onto the real performance...

Chapter One

The chiming of laughter resounded from a distance. The gentle pang of footfall echoed one another, two pairs of feet glided effortlessly across a manicured walkway. Two figures darted between props and set adornments, grinning jovially as they advanced.

"I still cannot believe that was you who sang!" came the delighted squeal of Meg Giry.

"I can hardly believe it, either," confessed the young woman of whom the younger Giry spoke to. They had just exited the simple chapel of the Paris Opera House, giddy and alert.

"So you say it was the Angel of Music who endowed you with such abilities?" Meg questioned.

"Indeed, it was," responded Christine as they rounded a corner to the dressing rooms.

"Well, you must teach me to sing," Meg urged, clasping her companion's forearm.

"Oh, I could never do such a thing, I'm afraid, for the Angel of Music is the true virtuoso," Christine gushed. "And I am merely his pupil."

A lapse of silence befell them both. Christine hurriedly opened the door to the erstwhile dressing room of Carlotta, listening as the door hissed shut behind them.

"Do you really believe that your tutor is the spirit form of your father?" Meg questioned, a fair brow sailing toward her bangs.

"I must confess that I am not certain, after tonight," Christine replied, frank.

Meg scrunched her face at the dismissal. "Well, what is his name?"

Christine crossed to the vanity table established near the mirror, and contemplated her image in the reflection before stating, "I don't know."

"How can you be taught by someone and not be aware of their name?" Meg asked, perplexed. She fluttered about the carpet to stand beside her friend, gazing at her in speculation.

"It hasn't been an issue thus far, Meg. And I've never asked for his name. Maybe he doesn't have one," Christine mused.

"Oh, that's preposterous," Meg chided, giggling slightly. "Everyone has a name."

When Christine shrugged, Meg pressed. "What does he look like? Oh, I do hope he's not a ninny."

Christine curled back her full lips and expelled a titter. "Meg, he's not a ninny. But..." Christine's brows clouded, and her fingers fumbled along the array of perfumed flowers at the surface of the vanity table. "I really don't have a clear depiction of him. All I can recall is his voice. And that's all that matters, isn't it?"

Meg sighed, her eyes rolling in synchronization. "You're not making any sense. Christine, are you feeling alright? Was that performance too stressful?"

"No," Christine said. "In fact, it was exhilarating. I feel...alive."

A knock reverberated around the room, and the muffled, gruff voice of Madame Giry shoved through the oak. "Meg Giry, you better not be in there. I told you that you weren't permitted."

Meg scowled, grumbling. "I can do whatever I wish. It's not as if I'm a little girl anymore."

'You're seventeen," Christine commented.

"I shall be eighteen in three weeks! I'm practically a woman!" Meg sniffed melodramatically. "You're sixteen, and my mother treats you as if you're a fragile, old maid! Really, it makes little sense."

"Meg..." Madame Giry called through the door.

"Oh, fine," Meg huffed, floating across the dressing room floor. "Good night, Christine. I'll see you tomorrow."

Christine heard the door slam behind her, and the comical confrontation between the ballet mistress and her daughter. She chuckled softly, purging her hair of its cumbersome pins. She watched as her dark curls fell about her white shoulders, and stood to go behind the ornate dressing screen.

Halfway, however, Christine stalled at the sound of a voice.

The door creaked open, and a sprightly young man presented himself. He grinned, and Christine braced herself against the table.

"W-who are you? What are you doing in here?" she called out.

"Forgive me, Little Lotte," the man said, his blue eyes glittering with mirth.

Little Lotte...Christine thought. Suddenly, she was transposed through time, years ago into her childhood. Summers at the shore, a fleeting scarf, a retrieval by a youthful boy. Not a soul had addressed her by that name in almost ten years.

Christine beamed. "I'm delighted to see you, Raoul."

The Phantom curled his fingers about the gilded threshold of the mirror, grinding his teeth, aggravation seeping into the very marrow of his bones. Another moment, another visitor. These inundating pests were ceaseless!

The ghost watched as his student moved to embrace a young man bearing a bouquet of flowers, and cursed himself. Why had he not sealed the door after the squalling Meg Giry had departed?

The mirror he peered through allowed for visibility from his side, but not from the other. Ergo, the party on the outside could not detect him. He stalked along the path, his head thrashing back once to peruse the scene.

"Raoul, it's been years," Christine whispered, accepting the floral arrangement with humility.

"I know, Little Lotte. And I'm terribly sorry for that. When I heard you sing tonight, the memories resurfaced. I knew that was you. And my, how you've changed," Raoul said, laying his hand atop Christine's.

Christine's eyes filmed over with moisture. She glanced down demurely at Raoul's modest grip, then withdrew her small hand from his. She occupied herself with positioning her recent gift among the already present legion of flowers. "I missed you."

Raoul crossed the distance and draped his palms across her exposed shoulders, saying, "and I missed you."

The Phantom felt his blood seethe within his being at the revolting sight. He yearned, suddenly, for his lasso to ensnare the fop's neck in. How dare that young dandy defile Christine? His hands flew to the mirror, working to pry it open. Prudence halted him.

He would have to await his chance.

Christine ducked away from him, studying her angelical reflection in the elongated mirror, her pale cheeks aflame. The Phantom's breath hitched. She was so close...

"I desire to offer my invitation to escort you to dinner this evening, Little Lotte," Raoul offered, nearing her once more.

"Oh, Raoul, I don't know. I'm already occupied with another, and it would be highly inappropriate for me to-" Christine was startled as she was cut short by the Vicomte. She pivoted to face him.

"I insist. Now, I shall leave you to change, and then I'll return. I already have a carriage waiting outside. Ten minutes, Little Lotte," Raoul replied briskly.

"Raoul, wait-!" Before Christine had a chance to complete her plea, he was gone.

The Phantom's eyes smoldered in wrath. That impertinent hound of a "gentlemen" was far too intimate for his liking. He gazed fondly back at Christine, who was situated at the vanity table once more.

The man behind the mirror smirked.

It was due time for his plan to be in action.

A/N:

Hope it was a pleasurable chapter! :) Please review- do it for Erik!