A/N: Oh, dear I forgot to say - I'm afraid this chapter is the last in this fic! You know story length isn't a strength of mine...:(

Never mind; a big, final thanks to everybody who was nice and reviewed (Carillon, AuroraSky, Kitten-nin, Bearer of Christ, Freedom Tide and JoJo Fairly) - I luv ya. You all helped me to write whenever I just couldn't be arsed - thank you!

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It was on a bright, warm day that Antoinette returned to the Opéra. The weather was unusually good, as if mocking her deep, despairing sadness. It had been a long, long time since she had come here - a good few years, in fact. During those few years much had happened, both wonderful events and terrible. As she walked up the steps of the Opéra, she recalled her boundless joy when she had become Madame Antoinette Giry, standing in the little church by her darling Raymond's side...oh, she had been so happy then! So wonderfully happy...

And then, even better had come; she had given birth to the dearest little baby girl, the darling daughter of her and Raymond. Meg, they had named her, and she was growing to be a fine young child. Antoinette could see very clearly that Meg was going to have a bright future as a ballerina, and was very glad of it. Meg would certainly go far with dancing, since her mother knew so much about ballet already!

Antoinette's face fell as she recalled what had turned her life irreversibly upside-down and made her days so terribly long and grey; the previous year, her poor, poor husband had taken ill and become consequently bedridden, unable to get up or even walk to the window to look outside as he had always liked to do. One horrible night, he had coughed and coughed, and by the time the doctor had arrived he was dead. Antoinette was a widow, left alone in the world with a young daughter to raise, plagued with distant memories of her beloved Raymond...

She had changed beyond recognition; the sweet, demure Antoinette had been abruptly replaced by a stern, cold woman whose only way of stopping herself from drowning in sorrow was to steel herself against the world. She smiled less and less, for she had no reason to - the only thing that kept her truly sane was her lovely Meg. She could not afford to lose herself and deny Meg a proper upbringing, so she clung grimly onto the real world, forsaking emotion so as to avoid the crippling grief that threatened her.

Women were widowed every day, she knew that, but not all recovered from it as she did. Doubtlessly, she would never marry again, but she would definitely not spend the rest of her days moping around aimlessly. So here she returned, to the Opéra Populaire, because she had been given the post of ballet mistress, an immense honour for as devoted a dancer as she. With all certainty, she would take pride in tutoring and directing the ballerinas, for it was a great privilege - and besides, Madame Rousseau had been getting a little old anyway.

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'I beg your pardon?' Antoinette stared at the manager with wide eyes, and he looked a little uncomfortable.

'I know this is all very irregular, but I'm afraid we are forced to reduce payment by a small percentage because our own funds are being sapped,' he confessed. Antoinette frowned.

'Sapped? By what?'

He shifted in his chair. 'Well...we have to keep paying the Ghost's monthly wages -'

She stiffened suddenly, all senses on alert at the mention of the infamous Phantom who had once been the boy she had looked after. 'His wages? How much must you pay him?'

'Er...well, he asks for twenty thousand, in return for keeping the Opéra a safer place -'

Antoinette was appalled. She had known Erik was a little twisted in his notions of right and wrong, but she never thought he would sink to the level of extortion! Her immediate thought was to find him quickly and force him to give up this terrible blackmailing...but then a sudden memory of a livid, white face contorted in an inhuman rage looming up in front of her made her resolve weaken. She may have been able to control him as a young boy, but now...now he was grown, and he was impossible to govern. She dreaded to think what would happen if she angered him or underestimated his limits...

However, one thing was for certain; she would definitely need to see him. How old must he be now? Seventeen, eighteen? Perhaps his mind had become more stable with age, and he had grown out of his terrible adolescent tempers. Although she regretted having left him on such bad terms when he was still growing and frustrated, she decided that it had probably been for the best. She knew that sometimes it was best to keep one's distance...who knew what emotional turmoil would have made him take his anger out on anything he saw...

Bravely, though, Antoinette reached a firm conclusion: she would search for Erik today, wherever he was in this building. She would need to talk to him about this outrageous "Opera Ghost" situation...and perhaps even make amends for the raging argument they had parted with when they had seen each other last.

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The cellars were just as dark and dingy as usual...but unfamiliarly free of spider-webs in the passage behind the chapel. Perhaps the regular passing of a certain young man had disinclined the spiders from stretching their webs across the corridors? Antoinette held her lantern high above her head, trying make it cast light upon as much of the passage as possible as she slowly made her way down it. Her heart was beating quickly; the thought of a creature as fearsome as Erik lurking in this darkness was enough to unsettle her quite a bit. Would he recognise her, if he saw her? Would she recognise him, if he had grown again? Antoinette sighed deep in her throat; of course she would. How could she not, when he had such an unfortunate deformity...

On she went, traipsing through the cold shadows and wondering how on earth she would find the elusive Erik in such a maze of passages. He lived across the lake, didn't he? And how would she ever get to his home, if the boat was not there? Her mood darkened with each step, as she realised just how slim her chances of finding Erik - and, indeed, of actually reaching his home - were.

To distract herself from this, she began to dwell upon all the rumours she had heard to do with the so-called Phantom. Each had been more fantastic and unbelieveable than the last, and even though not many were very credible, she became sure Erik would need a firm talking-to once she got her hands on him. It seemed as if during these past years he had been behaving like a child - like a mischievous child, trying to see how far he can go with his tricks without being punished. Most of these tricks appeared to be more harmless and playful than others, and from what Antoinette had heard, some of these tricks were becoming slightly more sinister than others too. It was best for her to find him, now, and tell him that even though she was sorry for having abandoned him in such a fashion, he needed to stop meddling with the affairs of the Opéra, or he would end up being caught.

Antoinette paused; she thought she could hear the high buzz of an electrical bell somewhere in the distance, sounding almost like an alarm. It didn't seem to be anywhere near - was she going in the wrong direction? She held her lantern close to her face, peering through the darkness for a turning she may have missed. Maybe she should go back and -

Antoinette cried out in alarm as something rough and snake-like whipped through the air silently and landed around her neck. In a lightning-fast movement, the loop closed with a jerk, bringing her wrist sharply against the side of her neck and causing her to drop her lantern at the same time. It smashed on the hard stone floor, the candle inside extinguishing immediately and letting the shadows close in.

Antoinette struggled madly, her heart pounding in her chest as the knowledge dawned on her that had she not been holding the lantern close to her head, the rope - for rope it was - would have effortlessly snapped her neck in that single, brutal movement. Now she fought to loosen it and free herself, before she suddenly caught sight of a pair of terrifying golden eyes gleaming in the blackness.

'Erik!' she gasped, and she heard him start back in shock. 'Erik, I know it is you - get this rope off me this instant!' To her relief he hastened to do so, his cold fingers dextrously flicking the lasso from around her neck.

'Antoinette?'

'Yes, it is me you were about to strangle so heartlessly,' she snapped at him. 'Might I ask the reason for these appalling actions of yours?'

There was a pause. 'I warned everybody to stay out of these areas, as they were dangerous,' replied the eerily soft voice. 'I must protect my home, after all, from the destructive hands of men. It was not my intention to take action against you, I can assure you - I merely heard the alarm and thought I had been disobeyed. Now, I suppose you would prefer it if we conversed in a more hospitable place...'

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Antoinette found herself once more in the Erik's quaint underground home, surrounded by the glorious works of art he had produced over time, and sitting opposite the man himself as he reclined, long legs crossed casually, in a high-backed armchair. She regarded him with narrowed eyes, taking him in. He had not changed very much since the last time she had seen him; he definitely seemed older and far more graceful, and he wore a new mask, but apart from that he remained completely the same.

She eyed his clothing; it was suspiciously fine, and she did not doubt that at least some of the extortionate sum of money he had demanded from the managers had gone towards the rich garments he wore. His black suit of fine quality was backed with an equally exquisite cloak that warded off the subterranean chill of the cellars he haunted, and all articles of his clothing fit him very well. She was surprised to see that they did not hang from his skeletal frame, but clung comfortably to him like any ordinary person's would.

'I see you appear to have quite a taste for fine clothes,' Antoinette remarked, and Erik gave a wide grin.

'I do, indeed...one might say it compensates for the rags I was forced to wear as a child,' he replied, absent-mindedly fiddling with the hem of his shirt. 'But it's rather tiresome to have all of my suits always custom-tailored...I'm of quite a particular build, as you can see, and they need to be taken in quite a bit. However, I know many efficient tailors who are glad to do the job for a reduced sum.'

'Paid well, aren't you?' Antoinette said bitingly, making him understand instantly what her point was.

'Ah...I see you have perhaps heard of the little agreement the managers and I have come to,' he commented blithely. 'Before you set upon me with your doubtlessly well-founded arguments, I would like you to understand that I need some form of income to cover my bare necessities. How else am I to earn - what sane employer would give a job to somebody like me? It is far better this way -'

'Erik, you'll make the Opéra close down from bankruptcy! You'll ruin them, and then -'

'They have patrons, don't they? Rich snobs who come and scatter their pennies here?'

'You don't understand -'

'Please. Don't meddle in my affairs, Antoinette,' Erik said with sudden sharpness, a flash of annoyance glittering in his amber eyes. 'I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, thank you kindly.'

Antoinette sighed, defeated. She did not know what to reply to him any more - he had become independant, and frighteningly so. She did not dare snap back and risk stirring his awful anger.

He seemed to calm down gradually, and then he regarded her with his head to one side slightly. 'Enough of me,' he continued conversationally. 'What of you? I remember you telling me - or rather, shouting at me, if I remember correctly - that you were to be married. I assume all is well?'

The pain resurfaced in her, but she managed to fight it down. No, she would not display any weakness now...she took a deep breath, and told him: 'I was married, and I have a lovely young daughter...but I lost my husband last year.'

The mask hid Erik's expression, but when he spoke, his tone was gentle. 'Forgive me. How did this tragedy occur?' he asked, with soft, polite curiosity.

'Oh...consumption, the doctor said,' Antoinette answered. 'There was nothing to do about -'

'Consumption?' Antoinette looked up at him in shock. His voice was full of disbelief.

'...yes,' she affirmed hesitantly.

Erik appeared strangely angry all of a sudden. 'Oh, you foolish woman, if it was only consumption I could well have saved him! I have made many discoveries over the years, and had you but come and told me...'

Antoinette stared at him with wide eyes. 'You...you know how to treat it? Cure it?'

'Why, yes, what do you take me for?' he said tetchily. A feeling of leaden despair descended into the pit of her stomach. So he could have done something about it...he could have saved Raymond - if she had only known, her poor husband would still be alive...!

'I didn't know...' whispered Antoinette, full of horror, then looked up at him beseechingly. 'Erik, how could I have known?'

Erik sighed, looking vaguely ashamed. 'Forgive me,' he said again. 'You are perfectly right...but what brings you back here? That is what I suppose I should have asked...'

'I have been appointed as mistress of ballet here,' Antoinette told him, feeling a hint of pride stir inside her. 'I shall be teaching.'

'Excellent. I assume you are happy, then?'

'Why, yes,' she replied, slightly taken aback for a moment, but then she smiled in return to his own grin.

'Very well then,' he said, suddenly business-like. 'I must put you on the right path back above now; your lessons will probably be starting soon. Oh, and Antoinette?'

'Yes?'

'I would advise that you stay away from the areas in the cellars that surround my lair,' he told her. 'They are not the best of places to be, and anyway I prefer to be left quite alone. If you are in need of my aid, you may most probably find me in the passage behind the chapel. Am I clear?'

Antoinette responded the affirmative, deciding that Erik would always, always be a quaint and rather sinister person, until the end of his days.

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One day, well after Antoinette Giry had long settled into the routine of ballet mistress, there was a knock upon the door of her house.

It was a rather dismal January morning, and she wondered who on earth it could be. Nobody she knew was likely to come visiting in this weather, when the sky was grey and the clouds threatening to rain over the streets of Paris. Leaving little Meg playing in the main room, she made her way across the modest wooden floor and arrived in front of the door. She opened it, and found a man on the doorstep. He looked vaguely embarrassed but still quite professional, and he enquired: 'Are you Madame Antoinette Giry?'

She frowned inquisitively. 'Yes, I am.'

The man looked relieved, and he stood to one side slightly. Antoinette wondered what he was doing at first, then saw that he had revealed a small, curly-haired girl who had been hidden behind him. Antoinette recognised the child straight away.

'Oh! Christine - Christine Daae, is that you?' she said, bending slightly. Upon seeing her, the girl ran towards her and buried her face in her skirts, beginning to howl. Antoinette patted the curly head anxiously, looking shocked. She turned back to the man, a questioning look upon her face.

'I'm afraid that your friend and acquaintance Gustave Daae has recently left us, and his daughter has nowhere to go,' he explained sadly. 'Monsieur Daae requested on his deathbed that she be put into your care, and he wished to apologise for any inconvenience it causes you.'

Antoinette put her hand to her mouth. 'Gustave...he is dead? Oh, no...oh, Christine, Christine...' She wrapped her arms tightly around the sniffling girl, fully understanding the reason for her tears. She could barely believe that her friend was dead...and now his poor daughter was left alone and orphaned. Antoinette looked up at the man. 'I will care for her, monsieur, and she shall be like a daughter to me. It is an honour that Gustave had enough trust in me to make me the guardian of his girl.'

The man nodded.

'Thank you, Madame. Good day. You may expect the paperwork in two day's time,' he said, sounding quite grateful, and then was gone.

Antoinette immediately bent and looked into Christine's face. 'Here, ma petite, it's going to be alright,' she said comfortingly, taking out her handkerchief and wiping the child's face. 'Don't worry; you're safe with me and Meg now.'

At the mention of her name, Meg crept out of the main room, looking concerned at her friend's tears. The two had been playmates for many a happy day, Antoinette fondly remembered. She was glad that Christine would have somebody her own age to talk with, and not just a stern widow like herself. Christine would never grow up lonely - she would make sure of it! As little Meg quietly began to talk to Christine, her young face full of concern, Antoinette found her thoughts going to the boy she had very unsuccessfully tried to finish raising. She had not known him, she argued with herself; she had not known to what extent his mind was scarred, nor what ordeals his appearance had put him through. But she knew, deep down, that she could definitely have helped him more than she did...whenever she had become angry at him, she knew now that he had only been testing his limits, doing as any child did. Now the boy was beyond her grasp; he was a man now, and he had become dangerous instead of mischievous. Antoinette sighed. She could not turn back time; if she did, she would become the helpless ballerina again, not knowing what to do with the demanding, hurt young boy. Looking out of the window, she decided that Christine's future would definitely be brighter.

Perhaps she should take her to the Opéra soon...? The girl had a nice voice; perhaps Antoinette could arrange for her to be a chorus girl later on?

The End...(or the beginning?)

Thank you again, everyone! And beware: my next fic will be another romance...