A/N: Yes. I am very much aware that this is a crossover fic. HOWEVER, I am about to get very technical. Seeing as how Belle did in fact make a cameo appearance in the movie, it doesn't quite have to be considered one. My reason for placing this story here is one word: Feedback. While Hunchback of Notre Dame is, unfortunately, already a seldom enough viewed corner of fanfiction as it is, a crossover one is even less likely to be read. Especially from a new unknown author such as myself. I plan to write and complete this entire story and a way that would totally help me to be able to do so would be your thoughts and opinions. They really are truly appreciated. I would like to be able to write this story for the enjoyment of the people, not just for my own amusement. All right... now that that's out of the way.

Let me begin by saying I find this pairing to be remarkably endearing and wonderful. I do not quite know what possessed me to write this, the entire story just came to me in a dream one night. I am going to start and finish this story nonetheless. Quasimodo deserves his happy ending, confound it! Anyways, there will be both elements of Disney and Victor Hugo's amazing novel when it comes to my base for Hunchback of Notre Dame with it leaning more towards Disney. The characters I use from Beauty and the Beast will be completely based on their Disney movie. Now for the biggest part:

DISCLAIMER: I own none of the characters or settings that occur in this story, however the plot is mine and shall remain so! Please enjoy!

Chapter - 1

Quasimodo

The sun had begun to rise slowly over the city of Paris, surrounding it in its warm embrace. Shades of oranges and reds cast themselves on the many crowded buildings, making even the most ordinary of places look strangely beautiful with brilliant and rich color. Though nothing could compare to the passionate, elegant ringing emitted from Paris's own Notre Dame. Every morning as the town slowly came to life again, the bells were what signaled the dawning of a new day. While the bells were beautiful, no one ever noticed them anymore. Unfortunately they were taken for granted. They rang day in and day out without fail. It was just a part of life. No matter how enchanting, they were simply another tick, passing down the hours. It was just how things were. No one ever questioned it. And, of course no one ever questioned the ringer of the bells of Notre Dame.

The only remote trace of him that had ever been spotted was the occasional strange silhouetted shadow against the swaying bells; and even then it was gone before even being fully noticed. Some believed the bellringer to be a ghost or perhaps an apparition of some sort. The more rational lot believed that he was simply a solitary fellow who preferred only the bells and the grimacing gargoyles for company. All that was known about him was that he lived in isolation, kept to himself, caused no trouble… and that there was something- well, wrong with him.

Not a soul in Paris could say what, and with how busy their daily lives were, none really cared to stop and think much on it. But, one thing was for certain: anyone who stayed up in those towers and never mingled among the rest of the town had to have a problem of some sort. But, as stated before: with how the minds of all the cookie-cutter folk of Paris worked, it didn't concern them, so they did not care.

Eventually, the loud thunder of the bells began to grow steadily softer. Soon, only the simplest vibration of their previous sound resonated throughout the cathedral in all its entirety. And, in no time at all, everything then was still.

While the streets of Paris were rich with noise from the hustle and bustle of the crowds going about their morning, those sounds just did not seem to reach Notre Dame. The cathedral loomed over the square solemnly and elegantly, protecting her great city in all her towering silence. There was, however, some commotion occurring high up in the South Tower as a small flurry of pigeons took flight, the slightest flutter of their wings the only sound flecking against the sky.

In the South Tower, from the shadows of the majestic bells a figure emerged. His gait was lame and his frame stooped over by an unusual, but unmistakable raise in his twisted vertebra. The moment the sunlight hit his face, it could easily be explained why no one had laid eyes on him. To say this man was hideous would be an understatement. Under a shock of auburn hair, his face was uneven and twisted- almost as if he had been put upon the earth before he was completely made-; a large wart nearly covered the poor wretch's left eye. There was nothing that could be compared to him, even the gargoyles seemed to sneer in horror, their timeless faces frozen in that manner. He was an owl among doves. He was the bellringer. He was Quasimodo.

He smiled meekly at the sky as the sun trickled in and warmed his face, it being the only thing that could ever not be repulsed by him. By a monster. Even his master would look down at him with cruel, leery eyes whenever he visited for his weekly lessons. Or rather, they used to be weekly. As the years passed, Quasimodo began to see less of his master. Now it came down to where he never knew when to expect him, sometimes going weeks on end without a sighting. While his master was not always great company, he was all the human interaction that he ever had, and the only link to the outside world. It was easy to say as a dog misses his owner when he goes on long trips, Quasimodo pined for his master

It could not be helped, for the man- practically boy still, was raised by him since infancy. After he was left seemingly abandoned on the steps of Notre Dame, his master took him in, taught him to read and write, educated him in the Catholic faith, as well as educating him in his own sin: his deformity. Oh yes, Quasimodo was well aware of his ugliness; he knew that it was because of this that he was forced to remain in his nest above the cathedral. He never questioned it, for his master always knew what was best for him and all that was ever done for him was for his own good. Even so, while he was reminded of it by his master, quite often he would forget. It wasn't that he thought himself handsome or even remotely attractive, he just… didn't think about it. His hideousness was a part of him. The only time in which he was ever made aware of it was if he were to accidentally pass a reflective surface.

If there was one thing about him that was not touched by his hideousness, it was his eyes. While one was partially covered, that still did not take away from their distinctive and expressive blue-green color. His eyes were clever, sincere, and gentle; certainly not the eyes of a monster. For one who knew so little of what was beyond the bells and the parapets, it almost seemed as if the hunchback had the entire world reflected in his eyes. There was an endless patience there, and an acceptance that would never be reciprocated. Living in solitude all his life gave him a greater understanding of life than what most any other normal person could even dream of having.

Despite his isolation, Quasimodo rarely was bored. Quite the imaginative one, he always came up with ways to keep himself occupied. A very obvious hint of that was the table in the center of his little room in the South Tower. Upon the small table was an exact replica of the Notre Dame square, little carvings of all the people that lived in the village scattered throughout it. Quasimodo knew more of the citizens of Paris and their lives then they even knew of his existence. In the small, carved version of Notre Dame, Quasimodo had his own figurine placed, just like in real life, observing all the action he was missing. But, right now his little city masterpiece was far from his mind as he made his way towards a different direction.

"I think I am twenty years old today," he said to no one in particular. Or so it appeared. What the real world saw and what Quasimodo saw were two very different things. While the tower in which he resided in currently seemed silent, save for the occasional noise from Notre Dame's square, to Quasimodo, his entire home was alive with the voices of the gargoyles and the bells. To him, they were as alive as the people below him that he would never meet. And -unlike those people- the gargoyles listened to him with great interest every time he parted his lips to speak. Even then, Quasimodo did not view himself above them. They were all equals, him and the gargoyles. Both condemned to live in eternal ugliness; a darker stain upon the already imperfect world.

The bells however, were a different story. They were beyond anything his already expansive mind could comprehend. As well as everything else in the world, save the gargoyles, the bells were above Quasimodo… in fact, he believed them to almost be right up there with Mary and the angels. A part from his master, they were his greatest loves, his beauties, and he cared for and protected them like a lioness looked after her young. He whispered soft secrets that not even the gargoyles knew to them. And oh- when he made them sing! There was no greater joy in the world that he felt whenever he pulled the ropes, gripped by his powerful and massive hands, listening to the glorious sounds in which they made.

When he was swinging along with them, it was the only place in which his deformity could not cripple him; where he could move effortlessly and gracefully through them all as if he were almost flying. It was the only beauty he felt that he could still be a part of without being scorned. And, it was a beauty he could share with everyone in Paris. There was just one catch – as there always was- the bells he rang for all of them… never rang for him.

"I mean, I believe it is somewhere around this time," Quasimodo continued, correcting himself with chagrin. "I can't be sure, but I remember Frollo said he had found me in the early winter season and now it is almost fall..."

The gargoyles just stared menacingly back at him, but he was sure that he heard their whispers of approval and agreement. Quasimodo could not say for certain how he felt about being yet another year older. It never really seemed like anything important to him. No gifts were received, no words of encouragement. It was only another day that rose and fell with the sun. There was just... something that seemed off to him.

"You know, that means I've lived up here for twenty years now."

Now, he was really just thinking out loud rather than making conversation with his friends. Twenty years of knowing nothing more than the stone interior of this marvelous domain. Twenty years living almost completely alone.

…Twenty years without talking to anyone other than his friends and his master.

Despite what he had been raised to know, there was just something that seemed very wrong about that. At the same time, he was fully aware of his condition.

"Hello Quasimodo," an all too familiar voice sounded suddenly behind him.

The poor boy whipped his head around, his muscles tightening as his body tensed. Standing at the top of the long stair well, was the menacing, solemn form of Judge Claude Frollo. For just a moment, Quasimodo felt a rare thrill of happiness course through him, thinking that perhaps Frollo had come because he remembered that today was… special. But, as he gazed up at his towering master's eyes, there was, as usual, a wall that blocked him from ever understanding, from ever truly knowing.

"I-its good t-to see you again, M-Master," he fumbled, his voice significantly softer and more timid than it had been before when he was speaking with the gargoyles.

"I do apologize my dear boy. I know I've been gone for quite some time. The abominations of Paris refuse to follow the law. And, when that happens, you know very well I am kept away," Frollo said, his voice cold yet fluid without even a trace of a sincere apology laced in it.

"Oh yes, M-master. I know you d-don't always have time for me. I-I-I wouldn't ask such a thing of you," he said, his words frantic as if he were afraid of angering Frollo even though he had done nothing wrong.

As Frollo moved further into the room, Quasimodo fell into step behind him, following him like a servant, a servant within his own home. It continued this way as the two sat down at a table and began a lesson, Quasimodo thrilled for the opportunity to please the man who raised him.

Nearly an hour went by before Frollo began to grow quite visibly bored. Quasimodo immediately seemed to pick up on his disinterest and tried to cover up the painful look that seemed determined to stretch across his face.

"You did well, Quasimodo," Frollo said, shutting his book in a rather exaggerated manner before he stood from his seat, "Your Latin is improving."

"Th-thank you, Master."

The deformed man's eyes brightened momentarily before they quickly flickered out like the dousing of a flame. Frollo was about to leave, coming back who knew when. Before the judge could turn all the way around he caught sight of the distraught look on Quasimodo's face. Figuring that he at least should pretend to be interested in his pain considering he had been gone for nearly a month, he paused.

"What is troubling you, boy?" he asked, not bothering to hide the reluctance in his voice.

Quasimodo's eyes widened for a moment as he realized that Frollo had caught on to his behavior. Unlike his master's eyes, his were like an open book. Quasimodo had no reason to hide anything. He never had anyone to hide something from and Frollo hardly paid attention as it was.

"What? O-oh nothing, Master. I-I-I was just thinking… I-I've lived up here for, well, for twenty years," he mumbled slightly, wondering if Frollo would get the hint at all what today was. His assumption proved incorrect as the tall man just started condescendingly down at him for a moment in question.

"Yes, very good, Quasimodo. Your counting is accurate. And the bell tower is an ideal place for one such as yourself to spend your life," Frollo said, his voice turning just a hint sharper as he reached the end of his sentence.

"Oh, well of course-" Quasimodo stopped the moment he saw Frollo pulling something from his robes, knowing very well what it was.

Frollo saved it only for moments like these when it was needed. When the hunchback questioned his place in both the world and under God. The mirror was soon shoved right in the wretch's face and Quasimodo could not help but reel back at his own reflection, his eyes growing glassy as he was once again reminded of the horror that was his sin and the reason for his isolation. Looking brokenly to Frollo, he covered his face with his large hands, feeling overwhelmingly ashamed of himself.

Frollo's eyes narrowed.

"Exactly. You see my dear boy; this is why you are kept up here. You are nothing but a monster to the citizens of Paris. And, they will not hesitate to treat you as such. You belong here. With the gargoyles, the bells, the darkness, and with God. Only they can keep you safe from the horrors of this treacherous world."

While Frollo's bottomless eyes seemed to seethe into the poor fellow, Quasimodo in turn could not meet his gaze even after he brought his hands from his face, his own eyes focused on a random crack in the floor board, or a wood shaving from one of his carvings… anywhere but his master's face.

"Y-yes… you're right Master. I j-just, I-"

"Good day Quasimodo."

And with a turn of his dark robes, the judge was gone and Quasimodo was left alone with the gargoyles, feeling impossibly small.

His eyes stared after the spot in which Frollo had disappeared for a very long time, only breaking from the place when he suddenly heard the sound of children chanting some sort of game outside in the square. Quasimodo slowly turned his head in the direction where the parapets were, but remained rooted to the spot. Just barely could he feel the wind rustling in against his face. He turned away and sighed, fully aware of his wistful thinking.

The familiar sound of fluttering wings sounded off again as a small flock of pigeons flew by. Never would he be like them. Never would he fly. He would always be in this stone cage, a prisoner in his own home. Frollo's previous words were still ringing in his ears just as clear and loud as the bells he held so dear.

"Only a monster…"

A/N: Alas, I know that this chapter hits quite closely to the beginning of the movie, however I found it important to both practice my characterizations on these two (having never written for them before) as well as emphasizing the powerful influence Frollo holds over Quasimodo as it will eventually be brought out more in later chapters. Don't worry, you'll be meeting Belle very soon.

And, if it really angers people enough and I get flames galore, then I suppose I would be able to move it to the crossover section, I just hope that you all see my reasoning. I mean no one wants to write a story for nothing.

Please forgive any historical inaccuracies, and so forth, I tried my best. Now. Please please please go forth and review. Your thoughts and opinions will make writing this story all the more enjoyable for me. And with as much as I dearly love my Quasimodo... that is saying a lot! Thanks for taking the time to read, more coming soon!