Title: Sanctuary

Author: brobdignagian

Rating: PG-13 for violence.

Disclaimer: I am not the owner the Hunchback of Notre Dame, either the book, which is owned by Victor Hugo, nor the animated movie, which is owned by Disney.

Summary: What if Clopin and Quasimodo had met before the Festival of Fools?

Notes: This story is based on the Disney version of The Hunchback of Notre Dame.

Clopin is around 20.

Quasimodo is around 13.

Quasimodo was incredibly difficult to write, so I apologize if he's out of character.

Quasimodo sat on top his bell tower, watching the glorious February sunset, as he did everyday; purple, red, blue, orange and black all mixed together as the moon chased the sun out of the darkening sky. His gaze wandered to the less glorious, but equally stunning citizens, who were hurrying to their homes before the boisterous streets of Paris became swarmed with thieves, criminals and gypsies.

How he envied them. They, who could walk around without the expatiation of being rejected as he would. They, who were not disfigured beasts as he was. They, who had everything he could ever dream of—family, friends, life.

He heaved a sigh, yearning, not for the first time, that he had not been born this repulsive creature, but instead a regular, accepted, normal human being.

Just like everyone else.

Quite suddenly, he was torn away from his wistful thinking when a few of his Master's guards met up alongside the church, and proceeded to pursue a lone figure. Quasimodo frowned, briefly wondering who could be worth the time and effort of the guards (who never did anything, besides get drunk, without a direct order).

He shrugged it off, deciding that it was of no concern to him. He hauled himself up and, with a jump, slid down the roof tiles. Yet, he stopped at the railing before he could sail over. He remembered the last time he jumped off, he had barely misjudged the distance, only just missing his landing spot, and fell through the roof of the church, landing in a (thankfully) empty pew, in the middle of Sunday Service.

Needless to say, the Archdeacon had been surprised.

And his Master had not been pleased.

At all.

Quasimodo gazed at the gap, carefully gauging the distance between him and the walkway—his landing spot—and decided that, if he jumped just so…

He was soaring. He closed his eyes. The biting wind flew through his bloodstained hair. This…it was pure bliss. Here, the rules didn't apply. Here, he was finally happy, he was finally free, he was…

His feet hit the walkway in a perfect landing. Gravity slammed against him, making his back, despite momentary painlessness in the air, shriek in pain. Condemning himself even more, he hunched over, easing the pain. He sighed again, and opened his eyes.

The sun had set.

He trudged from the walkway into the bell tower. As he entered, he found that his only friends, the gargoyles whom resided in the balcony, had observed his exceptional jump and hobbled their way over to him.

"Nicely done, Quasi!" Hugo said, wrapping an arm around him, grinning broadly. "Soon, you'll be doin' flips off this ol' thing!" he said, slapping the walls of their bell tower.

Victor's opinion was quite different. "You really should be more careful, Quasi!" He said, wringing his stone hands nervously, "We wouldn't want you to fall through the roof again…"

Laverne simply waved off Victor's worries (causing the bird which had resided on her hand to flutter away). "Oh, shut your mouth! He can do back flips off the Colosseum if that's what makes him happy. Ain't that right, Quasi?" She questioned, turning to him.

He gave her a small, grateful, smile. "Thanks Laverne…but I'm happy just learning how to jump from the roof to the balcony."

She gave him a motherly smile, and gently patted his arm. "That's what I like to hear, Quasi…that's what I like to hear."

Before Quasimodo had time to think of an appropriate response to her endearing comment, Hugo shoved Laverne out of his way (She gave a loud SQUAWK, sounding eerily like the birds that were so attracted to her.). "But man, Quasi, imagine how amazing it would be to flip from place to place!" He declared. He then decided to attempt a front flip of his own. He jumped into the air, and attempted to throw the rest of his body over his head. He hit the ground hard on his back, breaking through the wooden floors, crashing into the bell room below.

Quasimodo gasped and rushed over to the hole. "Hugo, are you alright?" He called down worriedly.

There was a pause before they heard a weak, "…'m awrite…"

After establishing the brain-dead gargoyle was fine, Victor jumped over Hugo's hole, landing in front of Quasimodo. He placed a hand on Quasimodo's upper-arm, remarking, "We just want to make sure you feel at home, and that you're happy here, Quasi."

Quasimodo gave him a smile in return. "Thank you Victor. I appreciate it."

It was then that Hugo entered the room via ladder, hunks of wood sticking out of him. The bird resting on Laverne flew over, took a piece of wood out of his hair, cooed and flew off. This caused Hugo to become red and start yelling at the bird, furiously shaking in an attempt to rid himself of the wood. Laughing a little to himself, Quasimodo walked off, vaguely hearing Laverne scold Hugo over needing to "be more careful when you do those so-called-stunts of yours!"

Entering the main room, Quasimodo shuffled over to the table which rested against the back wall, and gratefully sunk into the seat, taking the weight off his screaming back. Turning his sights to the items on the table, he carefully lit a candle, and gently took a hold of a hideous, unfinished wooden carving. It was a carving of himself, or at least it would be when he was finished. He saw wood carving was soothing, even if he didn't think he was good at it, despite Victor and Laverne's continual praises.

Taking out the small knife His Master had been so kind to lend to him, he started chipping away at his wooden figure. It didn't take long until he became completely engrossed in his task. The arguing of Victor, Hugo and Laverne faded into the background; his sight became limited to the glow of the candle.

When Quasimodo decided to stop, all was dark. He glanced out the open balcony, realizing the Heavens had finally chosen to reveal the stars. Stretching out of his chair, he walked out on the balcony (where his gargoyle friends had retreated to for the night) and gazed up at the night sky.

The stars made endless images in the skies. Not only were there the ones society had come to recognize—the famous figures and faces—but there were ones that he himself had invented. There he was, along with Victor, Hugo, Laverne. His Master was over there, next to the Archdeacon. The booths of the annual Festival where in the opposite direction, as well as several species of birds he had come to befriend.

It was a dazzling sight, yet not many people took time to stop and enjoy it. He glanced out among the city. Everywhere he looked, windows glowed with the light of candles as dinner was prepared, and children were put to bed.

Yes, it was a magnificent sight to behold. And it was his and his alone.

However, his wonderful sight was cruelly interrupted by rude laughter below his tower. His uneven eyebrows furrowed in confusion and he peeked over the balcony ledge, spotting the guards who had gathered before, whom were now beating the lone figure they had followed.

Quasimodo disgustedly shook his head at the barbaric actions of the guards. He couldn't understand why Frollo praised these brutal proceedings. He turned to go back inside his bell tower…

…yet, he froze when his eyes locked on a familiar hat, lying forgotten on the church steps. He frowned, unable to recognize where he'd seen the hat. He struggled to remember.

It couldn't be his Master's, his hat was square and black… It wasn't the Archdeacon's, his hat was small and red…None of the citizens wore brightly colored hats like that…In fact, the only time Paris saw colors that bright was at the—

The Festival of Fools.

That was it! The hat belonged to the leader of the Festival! The brightly colored one, who did acrobats, and one who gave puppet shows regularly in the square! The gypsy who—

Gypsy.

Quasimodo's face darkened, realizing the guards were beating a gypsy. Gypsies had sanctuary in the Church of Notre Dame. And the guards were assaulting one mere feet from the Church itself!

His eyes blazed. That wasn't right.

Quasimodo looked around, attempting to find a way down to help the unfortunate gypsy. Without a much of a second thought, he leaped over the ledge, taking a hold of one of the many pillars, and slid down to the part-balcony below.

Once he landed, he took a moment to compose himself (He made it!), and glanced down, finding a rift to the right, and halfway down that he could land on. He hurried to the end of the ledge. He got down on his hands and knees, pushing his feet over the ledge, and onto the wall below. Maneuvering his hands until they were grasping the edge, he took a deep breath and catapulted himself to the rift, which, as he found, was just wide enough for him to stand.

He clung on to the uneven bricks, desperately praying he wouldn't fall. Gulping, he gathered the rest of his courage, closed his eyes and jumped the rest of the way down. He landed hard, his eyes shooting open, and grazed his knees on the cold ground as he attempted to regain balance.

Relived he was on the ground; he looked around for what had gotten him down in the first place. He looked around, noticing his Master's guards standing a circle, and gaping at him with barely concealed fear.

Remembering the gypsy, he determinedly set his face in a scowl, and walked over to the circle of guards. They all shrieked, lunged onto their horses, and sped away.

Quasimodo paid the guards no mind (although, part of him was actually relieved at his disfigurement—he didn't know how he would have reached the gypsy with all the guards present.), and strode over to the gypsy.

The gypsy himself simply gazed at him, his eyes glazed over with pain. (He was taller than Quasimodo imagined he would. Of course, he was usually hundreds off feet away…)

Quasimodo quickened his pace as the gypsy fell unconscious. When he reached the gypsy, he sunk to his knees. He carefully put a hand on the gypsy's chest, and was relieved to find it still rising up and down, although the rest of him was badly bleeding and bruised.

Knowing he had to get the gypsy to safety, lest the guards return, he gently picked the gypsy up, carefully resting him against his hunchbacked shoulders. He made his way to the open doors of the church.

Once he entered the church, he turned around to face the city once more. He spotted the guards poking their heads around the corner. His eyes narrowed yet again. "Sanctuary." He whispered, and closed the church doors.