Sorry that it took me longer than I said it would to finish this chapter. School has kept me busy. Hope you like!

Disclaimer: I own nothing, not even the plot. I am merely manipulating it for my own entertainment.

Chapter 1: A Change of Cast
Paris, France, 1870

On the stage of the Opera Populaire, a rehearsal for the opera Hannibal is underway. The celebrated soprano Carlotta Giudicelli, prima donna of the opera, is singing her part of Elissa, the queen of Carthage.

“… This trophy from our saviors, from the enslaving forces of Rome!”
As she finished her aria, the women’s chorus members begin their entrance. “With feasting and dancing and song, tonight in celebration, we greet the victorious throng, returned to bring salvation!”

The men’s chorus follows with their response. “The trumpets of Carthage resound! Hear, Romans, now and tremble! Hark to our step on the ground!”

The women’s chorus joined in. “Here the drums— Hannibal comes!”

The chorus parted, revealing Ubaldo Piangi, a rather rotund, and almost always out of tune, tenor, playing the lead role of Hannibal.

“Sad to return to find the land we love,” he sang, “threatened once more by Roma’s far-reaching grasp.”

Before Piangi could continue, the conductor, Reyer, interrupted loudly. “Signor,” he said, a note of barely-disguised annoyance in is voice, “if you please: ‘Rome’. We say ‘Rome’, not ‘Roma’.” He had already told Piangi this several times, but the Italian singer never seemed to remember.

“Si, si, Rome, not Roma. It is very hard for me.” Piangi, too, seemed annoyed at Reyer’s continuous interruption. It was practically impossible to get through a single scene without the conductor complaining about a minor detail that the audience would never even notice. “Rome… Rome…” he muttered to himself.

“Once again, then, if you please, Signor: ‘Sad to return’…” Just as Reyer was about to start the orchestra playing again, the Opera’s manager, Lefevre, entered, followed by two men he had been showing around the Opera since that morning.

“This way, gentlemen, this way,” Lefevre said to his guests. “Rehearsals, as you can see, are underway for a new production of Chalumeau’s Hannibal.” He turned to the opera’s cast. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he called. “As you know, there have been rumors of my retirement. I can now tell you that they were all true.” He indicated the two men. “Some of you may have already, perhaps, met M. Andre and M. Firmin.” A few chorus members nodded. “They are now the owners of the Opera Populaire.” About half the chorus clapped politely. The rest looked slightly annoyed.

“Now?” one violinist commented quietly to his stand partner. “In the middle of the season?”

“I’m sorry, monsieur,” Reyer said to Lefevre. “But we are rehearsing. If you wouldn’t mind waiting a moment?” Lefevre looked uncomfortable under the conductor’s glare.

“My apologies, Monsieur Reyer. Proceed.”

“Thank you, monsieur.” Reyer turned back to Piangi. “‘Sad to return…’ Signor.”

“Excuse me, monsieur,” the ballet mistress, Madame Giry cut in. “You assured me that the ballet would have time to practice with the cast before the rehearsal ends today, and the rehearsal is almost over. Now if you don’t mind.” Reyer looked like he would explode, but he put on an oily sneer instead.

“Of course, Madame,” he replied through gritted teeth. His hands were clenched and his shoulders were trembling. Madame Giry motioned to the ballet dancers.

“Gentlemen, please,” the ballet mistress exclaimed in annoyance to the manager and his guests. “If you would kindly stand to one side?”

Lefevre apologized and moved out of the way of the dancers, pulling Andre and Firmin with him.

“I must say, monsieur Firmin, I shan’t be sorry to be rid of this whole business,” Lefevre commented.

“I keep asking you,” Firmin replied as he and his companion watched one of the dancers, a little blond girl. “Why exactly are you retiring?”

Lefevre ignored him. “We take particular pride in our ballet, as you can see.”

Andre, oblivious to Firmin’s annoyance at Lefevre’s unhelpful behavior, asked “Who is that girl, Lefevre?”

“Her? She is Meg Giry, Madame Giry’s daughter. The pride of the ballet, if I do say so myself. She’s sure to make Prima Ballerina in a few years.”

The loud bang of Madame Giry’s cane made Firmin jump. “Christopher Daae!” the ballet mistress shouted over the music. “Concentrate!” A young dancer of about twenty with dark, curly hair, one of the few men in the ballet, had fallen out of step. He looked alarmed at Madame Giry’s yell and corrected his error.

“Daae?” Firmin commented. “Curious name.”

“Swedish,” Lefevre replied, still watching the dancers.

“Any relation to the violinist?” Andre asked.

“His son, I believe. He never seems to be able to concentrate, I’m afraid. Always has his head in the clouds.”

The chorus began to sing again. As they did so, an enormous wooden elephant was wheeled onstage as one of the set pieces. Piangi managed to clamber onto its back, which was quite the feat for a man of his size.

“Once more to my welcoming arms my love returns in splendor!” Carlotta sang. Her face was screwed up both out of the strain her voice was causing her (she never believed she needed to warm up her voice before rehearsal) and out of annoyance that the chorus was blocking her.

“Once more to those sweetest of charms my heart and soul—” Piangi was cut off mid-breath as a backdrop fell to the stage floor, knocking him off of the elephant’s back and onto the ground. The orchestra came to a grinding halt, and three of the ballet dancers slammed into each other.

“Ubaldo!” Carlotta shrieked, her shrill voice rising above the commotion that was going on around her. She rushed to his side. “Ubaldo!” She shook his shoulders, but he had been knocked unconscious by his fall.

“Not again,” Lefevre muttered. “Buquet! Where the hell is Buquet?”

“What’s the matter with you?” Carlotta exclaimed, her voice become higher with every word. “Get some help, somebody!”

“Buquet!” Lefevre called again. “Chief of the flies,” he said to Andre and Firmin. “He’s responsible for this.” A stagehand appeared on the walkway suspended above the stage.

“Buquet! For God’s sake, what is going on?”

“It wasn’t me monsieur,” Buquet said, his speech slurred. He leaned heavily on the handrail of the walkway. “I wasn’t my post. Just look around if you have to, there’s no one up here but me, and I only just came up when you shouted for me. “It was the ghost, I swear it.”

“It’s the Phantom of the Opera,” Meg commented to Christopher. One of the chorus members snorted, but Meg’s expression was serious.

“Mademoiselle, please!” Firmin scolded.

Andre looked uncomfortable; Carlotta was still frantic, and she was glaring at both of the new managers. “These things do happen…” he said uncertainly.

“Si!” Carlotta cried angrily, leaping to her feet. “These things do happen! Well, until you stop these things from happening, this thing does. Not. Happen!” She stormed out of the theater. “Amateurs!” she muttered as she slammed the stage door behind her.

“Well,” Lefevre said uncomfortably. “I… don’t think there’s much more I can do to assist you. Good luck, gentlemen. If you need me, you know where to find me.” He gave a little nod and walked stiffly out.

“But we don’t know where to find you!” Firmin shouted after him.

“La Carlotta w- will be back,” Andre said hesitantly, looking uneasy at the at the opera company, who were all staring at both him and Firmin anxiously.

“You think so?” Madame Giry said. In her hand was a freshly opened letter. “I have a message, monsieur, from the Opera Ghost.”

“Oh, this has got to be a joke,” Firmin said as he sat down on an empty stool, his head in his hands. Madame Giry ignored him.

“She welcomes—”

“She?” Firmin said incredulously, looking up. “She?”

“Why yes, monsieurs, she welcomes you her opera house—”

“I beg your pardon? Her opera house?” Firmin was livid. Andre simply looked bewildered.

Madame Giry was indignant at being constantly interrupted. “She also commands that you continue to leave Box Five empty for her exclusive use, as Lefevre and every other manager has done in the past, and she reminds you that her salary is due.”

“Her salary? What ghost demands a salary?”

“The Phantom, monsieurs. Ever since the Opera was built, the ghost has been paid a salary of twenty thousand francs a month.”

“T- twenty thousand?” Andre stammered, flabbergasted.

“Yes, sir. And I suggest you pay it. So long as you and everyone else here conform to the ghost’s requests, everything goes smoothly—prosperous, even. However, if her directions are not followed precisely, terrible things happen.”

“What sort of things…?” Andre asked. Sweat was beginning to bead on his brow.

“I have no idea. No one has ever dared to disobey the Phantom as far as I have been here.”

There was silence for a few moments. Firmin cleared his throat.

“With Piangi injured, and Carlotta gone, we will have to cancel the performance tonight. We’ll have to refund a full house! And what am I going to tell the Compte de Chagny? His sister?”

“Are there understudies for Carlotta and Piangi, Reyer?” Andre inquired.

“Not for Piangi, monsieur,” Reyer replied. “Carlotta has one, but we have never needed one for Piangi. He had never missed a performance before now.”

“Christopher Daae can sing it, sir.” Meg Giry spoke up. Christopher looked nervous, like he didn’t want to be the center of attention.

“Oh, you cannot be serious!” Firmin exclaimed. “First you expect me to believe this place is all but run by the ghost of a woman, then you try to convince me that a boy from the ballet can sing the part of Hannibal.”

“But sir,” Meg insisted. “He’s been taking lessons for the past year. He’s really amazing.”

“Who’s your teacher, boy?” Andre asked.

“I- I don’t know, sir,” Christopher stammered. “She never told me her name.”

“There, you see?” Firmin said, his voice dripping with frustration. “He claims to have been taking lessons from someone, yet he never got her name. How… convenient,” he sneered.

“Come now, monsieur, let the boy sing,” Madame Giry cut in. “I’ve heard him sing; you won’t be disappointed.”

“Shall we begin?” Reyer said after a moment, not waiting for a go-ahead from Andre and Firmin. Christopher nodded nervously. Meg pushed him forward so he was standing center stage.

Christopher began to sing. He sounded timid, as if he never sung before an audience before.

“Andre this is doing nothing for my nerves,” Firmin whispered loudly.

“Don’t fret, Firmin,” Andre replied.

As he sang, Christopher caught Meg’s eye, and she smiled encouragingly. He closed his eyes to compose himself, and his voice suddenly became far stronger. Meg’s smile widened to a grin, and even Reyer was smiling. Firmin was astounded; he stood there, mouth agape. He never thought he’d be proven wrong.

---

That night, at the Gala, Rachelle de Chagny couldn’t sit still. It was like this whenever she visited the Opera Populaire; she just got so excited.

“Rachelle, calm down,” Philippe, her older brother, said with laugh. “The opera will start in a few minutes.”

“You know I can’t!” she laughed in reply. “I’ve never seen Hannibal before. I wonder if Piangi will be any better tonight than he was last month?”

“I was actually going to say something about that; I received a message from the two new managers—”

“Oh, Lefevre retired?” Rachelle interrupted. “That’s too bad. I always liked him.”

“—Saying that Piangi was injured during rehearsals this morning, so they had to find a last-minute replacement for him.”

“Who did they cast?” Rachelle watched the members of the orchestra move into their seats in the orchestra pit.

“They didn’t mention his name, but they did say that we won’t be disappointed with him.”

“Oh good.” Rachelle smiled at her brother. She glanced over at the orchestra again to see the conductor, Reyer step onto the podium. “Look, it’s starting.” As the overture played, Rachelle squirmed happily in her seat, acting like a little girl rather than the woman of twenty she was. The curtain rose, and she squealed excitedly.

When the character of Hannibal came onstage, Rachelle was taken aback; the tall young man who had taken Piangi’s place was so familiar. Where had she seen him before? By the third act, she remembered.

Is that Christopher? She thought. It has to be him! It’s amazing what time can do to a person; he looks nothing like that little boy I used to know.

When the opera ended, Rachelle was the first on her feet, clapping wildly. Christopher sounded amazing, and he had become quite handsome in the years since she had last seen him. Philippe soon joined her in a standing ovation, as did the rest of the audience.

“Philippe,” Rachelle said when the applause had subsided. “Do you think you can get me backstage? I want to congratulate the cast on such a wonderful performance.”

“Of course. I was about to go there myself in order to speak to the managers.” Rachelle smiled. With any luck, Christopher would remember her.

Please review for me! I'll probably be doing a scene for each chapter. Two scenes, if they're really short. The Phantom may or may not make an appearance in the next chapter, idk.