A/N: So, I was rewatching Disney's Hunchback of Notre Dame (which I do not own the rights to, but I do own a copy of the movie) and…yeah. I found an old story idea while cleaning out my box of papers, rewatched Disney's Hunchback of Notre Dame two (or ten) more times and then decided to write this. It is very different from the original story idea. On many levels.
Summary: Teaching is a hard task, for not all lessons are learned quick enough.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Except this plot and then only parts of it. Oh, and some OCs, but they are based off characters we see in the movie, so…I don't really own them either.
Lesson One: The Worst Crime of All
The young boy was staring at the puppet cart as he was lead through the streets of Paris. They were so close to Notre Dame that, if the bells rang, the boy was sure they would cause the cobblestones to shake. He continued to stare at the cart, leaning back slightly to catch sight of it. The woman sighed and turned to him, clasping the basket to her side a little more. "We have to go," she reminded softly and he turned to the older woman he was standing next to, eyes wide. He leaned against her side a bit and she sighed softly, before she looked up at the puppet cart. "Very well. Just remember to keep an eye out," she answered and he hugged her tightly before he ran off to join the others who watched the show.
With his darker completion and his purple clothes, he was quickly spotted as one of the Gypsy children that occasionally were around Paris, causing the parents around him to keep their children from him. As the show progressed, he began ignoring the world around him. He was so enthralled with the street performers, even if he saw similar, or better, in the Court , that he forgot to pay attention. He watched as the puppeteers left and were replaced by jugglers, something he didn't see very often, which pulled him further away from the world. He kept forgetting to watch, even when movement from the corner of his eye nearly made him turn.
So, he wasn't expecting the shout of, "Hand it over Gypsy!" and being hauled onto his feet.
He jumped and tried to wrench his arm out of the painful grip, trying to figure out what he had done. To his knowledge, all he had done was sit and watch a performance. He tried to get his arm out of the guard's grip, trying to get his arm free while the guards demanded he give up whatever it was he was supposed to have stolen. He stared up at them, fear building in his mind, and he suddenly twisted his arm in a way that hurt him still, but gave him freedom, and was gone.
He disappeared through the streets, racing as fast as he could without knocking anyone over. He dodged around the baker, nearly upsetting his basket of bread, before he could tear off down one of the alleyways, having to slow down as he scrambled over one of the railings and jumped down. He stumbled and someone caught him, hands strong against his shoulder.
In a panic, he yanked himself backwards, trying to fight his way out of the gentle grip when a voice, soft and soothing as a lullaby, cut through his panic, "Clopin, what's wrong?"
He looked up and into a familiar and comforting face. Without thought of being chased, without thought of the fact that guards still wanted him for reasons he did not comprehend, he flung himself at her. She let out a startled sound and Clopin buried his head into her stomach, the purple of her outfit matching his. With his head resting there, he could feel the slight rounding that spoke of an early pregnancy and he tensed slightly, a new fear coursing through his veins, remembering too often how many times she had lost her children before they were born.
As if she could understand his panic, her fingers began to run through his hair in a soothing manner and he felt his fear evaporating, as if she could protect him from everything. As if no bad things could happen to him so long as she was here. He clung a little tighter, as if his hold on her could anchor her forever there with him.
"Clopin, what is it?" she asked softly, ignoring how the world passed around them, as well as the accusations of laziness being thrown at them.
He looked up at her. "The guards, they grabbed me. I swear, I swear Chantal, I did nothing!" he stated, clinging tighter still to her as his fear returned.
Her fingers paused in running through his hair and she sighed. Clopin's fear spiked upon seeing the pure exhaustion in her brown eyes and face. "Come. We need to get somewhere safe," she murmured softly, gently removing herself from his grip, but taking hold of his hand.
Before he had a chance to ask, there was a shout of, "There he is!"
Clopin's head shot over and suddenly he was in Chantal's arms. She had picked him up as if he was a small child and it irked him…until Chantal took off. He clung to her as she ran, her speed and knowledge of Paris aiding her as she dodged through the people, jumped over railings, and otherwise raced through the streets of Paris.
He distantly wondered how she was able to do this, running like this while carrying him, before he found himself not caring as the guards attempted to follow them. However, Chantal was too quick on her feet, her memory too good. She knew where to turn to keep the guards in turmoil as they tried to follow her directly. However, if they weren't getting cut off when they got cut off by horses, their horses got caught behind one of the railings, the large, magnificent, creatures being unable to follow where Chantal led. "Are we going home?" he asked.
Chantal shook her head, bumping into a large black horse. "Pardon, monsieur," she stated and immediately rushed along.
Clopin saw the man, whose hair was practically gray, his face severe, as the guards shouted at them to stop. He had already gotten his horse under control, but Clopin clung to Chantal as his fear enhanced, though he wasn't sure how Chantal would know that it had to do with the man. She had just picked up speed and, as the sallow man on the horse scared him, Clopin buries his head into her shoulder, the guards shouting at them to stop once more.
It just seemed to spur Chantal on.
He was ten years old. He was practically an adult and he helped to bring in money for their people. And he had ended up in a scenario where he was relying on someone else to get him out of trouble because he hadn't been paying attention to his surroundings.
He was berating himself for such a foolishly childish thing as Chantal rushed up the steps of Notre Dame. She hauled open the door, her hand slipping slightly when a man, elderly, and dressed like one of the cloth, helped her open. "Hurry, my child," the man stated and Chantal quickly ran in.
The man in the white robe shut the door to Notre Dame as Chantal slowly set Clopin on the ground. "Thank you," she stated and the man shook his head.
"I would be a poor Archdeacon if I did not open the doors of Notre Dame to a mother and her child," he stated.
Chantal jumped at that and Clopin looked away. Chantal sighed and rested a comforting hand on Clopin's head. "I am just the one who raised him," she corrected softly.
The Archdeacon considered and then nodded before beginning to wander back to his duties. "You two will be safe here, so long as you are in these walls. I will allow no harm to come to you, while you claim Sanctuary," he stated.
"Sanctuary," Chantal repeated and the Archdeacon nodded in approval before he left the pair alone.
Clopin crossed his arms and then glared up at Chantal. "Next time someone assumes were mother and son, I am going to interrupt you and claim it to be true," he warned.
"You don't lie in church and especially not in the cathedral of Our Lady," she responded softly.
"To me, it's not a lie," Clopin retorted.
Chantal seemed to still and she looked down at him. Clopin looked up at her and then wrapped his arms around her, hugging her for all he was worth. "By blood, we're only brother and sister, but to me, you will always by my mama," Clopin whispered and she hugged him back.
"This eloquent and you're only ten. You're going to be a great king someday Clopin," she responded softly.
Clopin looked up. "Why did the guards grab me? All I was doing was watching the performances," he answered and that exhaustion came back.
Chantal looked around and then carefully took Clopin's hand before she walked out of the way. She settled on the ground and Clopin immediately snuggled into her side as if they were in their home, not on the hard stone floor of Notre Dame.
Once settled, she sighed and ran a comforting hand through his hair. "First of all, you foolish boy how could you forget to keep aware of your surroundings?" she demanded softly and Clopin groaned, burying his head into her shoulder. She chuckled softly and glanced around before she focused on him.
"And…why the guards grabbed is because you are a Gypsy. They do not like us very much in Paris, Clopin. Or anywhere, if I am to be honest. And…if the wrong man becomes the Judge, we will find that our lives will become much harder," she explained softly.
Clopin looked confused. "But, why should the fact we are Gypsies make any difference?" he asked.
"Because, my dear Clopin, we have committed the worst crime of all, in their eyes," she explained.
Clopin stared at her, trying to comprehend. She sighed and seemed to debate with herself before her shoulders sagged slightly. "In their eyes, we will always be thieves, and vagabonds, never contributing to society, never being better than the vermin that infest their sewers. Because…we were not born the way they were. We are, unless we commit an unlawful act, innocent," she responded and suddenly the doors to Notre Dame opened violently.
Chantal looked up, fear filling her face and Clopin clung to her. She wrapped her arms protectively around him. "Where are the Gyspies?" a guard demanded and Clopin buried his head into her shoulder. She held onto him and he flinched at every accusation, every slur, that was sent to cut them down.
Chantal just held onto him comfortingly and hummed softly. When they left, she explained they would be staying there for a while. After a time, she fell asleep against the wall. Once Clopin was sure that she was asleep, he carefully extracted himself from her, now lax, grip. He stood up and looked around.
There wasn't anyone around, omitting people that belonged to the church, and he looked around again before he stood at one of the pews. He wasn't entirely sure what he was supposed to do, but he figured that God would forgive him if he wasn't perfect. So, he prayed as best as he knew how.
"Please, please, have my sister survive this birth. She's lost so many since she got married and the last one nearly killed her and this time…this time she's tired. Please, please, have her survive this. It would be nice if the child survived too. In fact, I think she would prefer it, but…I'm human and selfish and I don't wish to lose my sister to Heaven just yet," he prayed softly, his voice barely reaching his own ears.
He stood there for a few more minutes and then quickly returned to Chantal's side. He would have to wait to see if his prayer was answered.
He hated waiting.
It wasn't till late at night, when Chantal gave coins to their father, the King, that Clopin realized that Chantal's basket was gone.