Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunchback of Notre Dame or anything to do with it. However, I do own Diamanta Devereux, her father, Oliver, Cecile Devereux, Madame Doreen,and Judge Thomas Gautier.

Note: No, the story isn't finished. I, too, am a Clopin fan and refuse to finish the story with such a terrible ending as I have in this piece of it. I don't know how many chapters there will be, but there'll be enough for the story to make all Clopin fans fulfilled.

Just…great… all the submissions for Christmas-themed harry potter fanfics are now closed…and I've barely gotten to the middle of mine. Dandy. Just fucking dandy.

So…yup, back to the good ol' Clopin story. Don't think I forgot about y'all! Yeah, so here goes another chapter. Very crappy, but I'm damned proud of it! Here we learn a WHOLE LOT about Diamanta that you would have never thought could really happen. But remember, this is MY story, therefore I could make anything happen. So stay tuned, 'cause a whole lot of crazy stuff is yet to happen.

btw, I didn't mean for the ending of the chapter to be so stupid…I tried to make it a cliffhanger…but it ended up kinda screwed up.

Chapter # 15

Diamanta stared into her own reflection.

"What an eventful day!" she said to herself. "I go to Esmeralda for help, wake up in a jail cell, watch Clopin get stabbed, and accidentally ask him to…" her voice trailed off as her face reddened. Even in the privacy of her own wagon, she still blushed at the thought of it. She rested her head against the mirror in humiliation. "And I still have to confront him." She lifted her head so she now stared directly at her reflection. "You always have to fuck everything up, don't you?" she hissed at it. "You miserable, miserable yellow-eyed freak! You always have to ruin everything!" She banged her head against the mirror. Several tears ran down her face. I'm losing my mind, she thought to herself. Suddenly a different thought came into her mind.

Maybe you're not losing your mind. Maybe you're just…in love. The war inside her mind began.

Would someone in love hate herself?

Would you hate yourself if Clopin told you he loved you?

What the hell is that supposed to mean?

You only hate yourself because of your insecurities with Clopin.

It's not just that, it's—

It's what? Esmeralda, who helped you out? Phoebus, who does nothing but watch? Or perhaps, Oliver? The man who loved you? The man you let die?

Fine, it is about Clopin.

You didn't even watch him die.

This has nothing to do with Oliver.

You could have let him live, Diamanta. Things could have worked out.

I could never forgive him. He could have murdered Clopin.

But he didn't.

He could have.

But he didn't.

He needed to die. The fact still remains the same that he wanted to kill Clopin. What if I let him live? I would wake up the next morning with Clopin's head in my wagon! I could never risk that.

Stop lying to yourself, Diamanta.

What?

The only reason you wanted Oliver dead is that he stood in the way of you and Clopin. Diamanta was horrified that she could even think such a thing.

That…that's not true.

Oh, isn't it? Oliver was your beau. You loved Clopin, and Oliver didn't like that.

NO!

So you let him die.

No…no…

Murderer.

Please…just stop…

You wanted him to die, you sick, selfish bitch.

"SHUT UP!" Diamanta fell to her knees, sobbing into her hands. "I'm not a murderer…he needed to die…I…I…" Her face and shirt were now drenched in tears. A knock came to the door. Diamanta recognized the soft sound of Esmeralda's knuckles against the wood. "Come in," Diamanta called. The door opened, but she didn't bother to look. She already knew who it was. "You know Esmeralda," she said, her back still to the door, "I think I realized something. I am madly in love with Clopin. I didn't even watch Oliver die, simply because of what he did to Clopin." She paused for a moment. "And I'm sorry," she said quietly, "for saying what I did. Phoebus is a wonderful man. He may have money, but I'm sure that's not the only reason you married him." She felt a hand on her shoulder. However, this was not Esmeralda's hand. She turned her head around, and to her absolute surprise — and horror, the hand belonged to Phoebus.