Of course, it wasn't actually the Ghost of Fucking Christmas Past.

Lo and behold, there stood the Phantom of the Opera (but for now we'll just call him Mr Y), just as masked and awkward-looking as he had been ten years ago, when he pulled several creepy-stalker-stunts in a desperate attempt to get Lysandre to marry him. (Ask her how that all worked out, I dare you. Or better yet, read the first story in this little duo-story thingie. What, Molière can self-promo and I can't?)

Lysandre, naturally, was not too happy about this. In fact, she was really pissed. She had hoped that the whole "Hey guys I'm a lesbian and I'm with Meg Giry" thing would work out to her advantage, but something told her it really hadn't. Namely the fact that Mr Y was standing right in front of her.

"Your hair was black the last time I saw you." God, clearly the man still wasn't good at making decent conversation.

Lysandre shrugged. "I decided ginger was more fun," she said, twirling a lock of red hair around her finger. "Don't ask me how I did it, either. Frankly, it was a real bitch to figure out. But what I'd like to know is what the hell do you think you're doing here?!"

"What am I doing here? My dear Lysandre, I own every inch of Coney Island!" He opened his arms in demonstration, looking immensely proud of himself. Lysandre stared at him for a full five seconds before completely cracking up.

"Okay, hold the phone," she laughed, "are you telling me that after everything that happened back in Paris, your next big idea was to open a theme park in America? And here I thought you were some sort of genius!" Wiping her eyes, she collapsed over a chair, chest heaving with mirth.

Mr Y pouted at her. "I don't care what you think. I'm worth millions, now, and the Americans think I'm great."

Lysandre rolled her eyes. "They think everything is great. Don't you hear them out there, going on and on about Heaven By The Sea or some shit? You could toss them a plastic spoon and they'd all laugh hysterically, turn into potatoes, and roll away into the sunset."

Blinking at her, Mr Y nodded a bit before sitting across from her. "But the reason I've come..." He trailed off, staring at his folded hands. "Oh Lysandre, my Lysandre, in that time when the world thought me dead... My Lysandre, on that night just before you wed, ah Lysandre, you came and found where I hid, don't you deny that you did, that long ago night..."

He ended on a rather high note, and Lysandre sat there watching him, a complete WTF expression on her face. "...What are you talking about?" She asked.

"Don't deny it, Lysandre!" He reached for her, causing Lysandre to cringe, before elaborating. "That night, Beneath A Moonless Sky, too dark to see a thing... too dark to even try..."

"No seriously bro I don't know what you're talking about - "

"And I touched you!"

"Whoa now - "

"And I held you!"

"Erik - "

"- Singing in your veins! -"

"You're confused - "

"And I took you!"

"Gross!"

"...What?"

Lysandre sat up, brow furrowed and her head tilted to the side. "Are you talking horizontal salsa dance?" She didn't wait for him to respond. "Do you mean sex? Dude, believe me when I say that when it comes to you and me, it ain't happenin'."

Mr Y looked even more confused than Lysandre felt. "How is it not happening? It did happen. Ten years ago. You looked into my heart and saw me pure and whole."

Another bark of laughter from Lysandre. "Fat chance of that, yo. Look bruhbruh, I don't know who you got busy with that night, but it sure wasn't me. I had a thing."

"It had to be you!" Mr Y protested. "Who else would it have been? I heard your voice, I - I know it was you!"

"Mm, yeah, nope." Lysandre tossed her hair. "Sorry, but like I said, I had a thing. Next time you get it on like Marvin Gaye, make sure there's a little light on in the room so you can see who you're with." She was about to make a sassy as hell exit, when Benedict Cumberbatch Jr came running into the room and into his mother's arms.

"Mother, please, I'm scared!" He exclaimed, burrowing his face into her skirts. Lysandre crouched down to his level, taking him into her arms.

"My darling little Benny, you needn't be scared! There aren't any Death Eaters under your bed; I've already checked!"

"Aren't you going to introduce us, Lysandre?" Mr Y asked succintly. Lysandre gave him a death glare before lifting her son into her arms.

"This is my son, Benedict Cumberbatch Jr. Benedict Cumberbatch Jr, this is Mr Y, who used to call himself Erik (which was a much cooler name). He stalked and kidnapped Mummy ten years ago, d'you remember me telling you about that?" She asked, tickling Benedict Cumberbatch Jr under the chin.

Benedict Cumberbatch Jr looked at Mr Y. "You're a prick," he said matter-of-factly, illiciting a fond chuckle from his mother and a frown from Mr Y.

"I'm sure your mother embellished an awful lot," Mr Y argued. "Anyway, how are you enjoying Coney, little vicomte?"

Benedict Cumberbatch Jr shrugged. "S'aiight."

Lysandre set him down and nudged him back towards his room. "Why don't you go back to bed, darling? I'll be in in a little while to read you a story." Benedict Cumberbatch Jr toddled off towards his room, and neither he nor Lysandre knew that Mr Y's number one train of thought was, I think that's my son.

Which could only mean that more shit was, in fact, about to go down.