Hello, readers! This is my new story, The Phantom of Notre Dame, a crossover of the Disney film and film adaption of Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical. Regarding my previous Anastasia/Percy Jackson fic, I am still working on it, never fear! I just got a little blocked. Anyway, below I have provided a list of who's who in this story. Please read it before starting; I don't want you to be confused! I should probably note that this story is the POTO characters playing out the hunchback storyline, with a few twists. Enjoy!

Erik/the Phantom will be the hunchback. He is not hunchbacked, he will have his full-face deformity.

Christine as Esmerelda. I know, I know, Christine's not a gyspy, but you'll find out later.

Raoul as Pheobus.

Etienne Barye as Frollo. For those of you who don't know who Etienne is, he is a character from Susan Kay's adaption, and the best villain I could decide on.

Father Mansart as the Archedeacon – again, he is a priest from Susan Kay's novel.

Javert as Clopin. Javert will be very OOC in this one, sorry, folks, he was the only gypsy I could think of for Clopin! So he will not be mean and cruel in this one.

Madeline as Erik's mother. She is from Susan Kay's as well.

Madame Giry as herself.

Meg Giry as herself.

The rest will include minor characters from Phantom. The characters will sing in bold, and speak in normal text. Flashbacks will be in italics. This is also set in 1870.

1870, 6th January, Paris

(Scene opens up on a bird's-eye view of Paris. We can see Notre Dame overhead)

Javert: Morning in Paris,

The city awakes to the bells of Notre Dame,

The fisherman fishes; the bakerman bakes,

To the bells of Notre Dame,

To the big bells as loud as thunder,

To the little bells soft as a psalm,

And some say the soul of the city's the toll of the bells

The bells of Notre Dame…

"Listen, they're beautiful, no? So many colours of sound, so many changing moods! But you know, they don't ring all by themselves." He held up a little miniature puppet of himself to the children he was entertaining. "'They don't?'" he made it say. He laughed, watching the children's faces light up. "No, silly boy. Up there, high, high in the dark bell tower, lives the mysterious bell ringer. Who is this creature? 'Who?' What is he? 'What?' How did he come to be there? 'How?' Hush!" He whacked the puppet's head as the children laughed. "Listen, and Javert will tell you. It is a tale; a tale of man, and a monster…."

(The scene changes to twenty years ago.)

Javert: Dark was the night when our tale was begun, on the docks near Notre Dame,

A baby cried as four people rowed a boat across the water. The mother tried to shush it, but no avail. 'Shut it up, will you!' cried its father anxiously.

'We'll be spotted!' another chimed in.

The mother rocked the baby desperately. 'Hush, little one.'

Four frightened gypsies slid silently under the docks near Notre Dame,

But a trap had been laid for the gypsies,

Four soldiers came into view as the gypsies stepped out of the boat and grabbed them.

And they gazed up in fear and alarm,

At a figure who's clutches were iron as much as the bells,

The bells of Notre Dame

The gypsies gasped as tall figure came into view on horseback. The baby's mother gasped and clasped her child to her chest. Her husband put an arm protectively round her. 'Minister Barye…' he breathed in astonished fear.

Minister Etienne Barye glared at the people in front of him. He straightened himself up. 'Bring these vermin to the prisons,' he sneered.

A guard suddenly grabbed the mother. She fought and struggled to protect her child. 'What are you hiding?' he sneered.

'Stolen goods, no doubt,' Etienne said smoothly. 'Take them from her.'

Grasping her chance, the mother shook free of the guard's arm and took off. Etienne followed suit on horseback, rage gleaming in his eyes. The snow was deep and biting as she ran, desperately hugging her child to her. She ran and jumped over a fence into a small alleyway, hoping it would stop Etienne from getting through. She ran into a courtyard. It was deserted. 'Help!' she screamed. 'Please, shelter! Give me shelter, I beg you!'

Etienne's horse burst through another passageway. She gasped and turned. The snow was falling deep and the baby was crying in fear. Finally, she came to a large open space. And it was there she found an answer.

She ran to the doors and banged as hard as she could, the wood making hollow thuds. 'Sanctuary, please, give us sanctuary!' Before she knew it, she was thrown to the ground. Etienne had the child! She struggled to make a fight, but one last throw and her dead body was lying sprawled across the steps of Notre Dame. Etienne unfurled the crying bundle. 'A baby…' He mused and unwrapped the folds covering it. He gasped as soon as he did. 'A monster!'

He looked around for a way to dispose of the child. That horrible, malformed face… he had to get rid of it! Then, he spotted the well a few paces away. His chance…

He walked over, raised the bundle and…

'Stop!' The Archdeacon, Father Mansart, came running out of the chapel. Etienne turned and glared.

'Don't interfere,' he said. 'This is a demon and it needs to be gotten rid of.'

'You will not touch it!' the Archedeacon cried. 'It is a human being!'

'It is not!' Etienne shoved the bundle in the priest's arms. 'Look at it! It's not even human! That face cannot be anything good!'

The plump little priest sighed and cradled the child. 'Perhaps… perhaps it is not what we perceive at frist sight is what we should be reasoning,' He looked over at the body of the mother, knelt and held her head.

Father Mansart: See there the innocent blood you have spilt, on the steps of Notre Dame,

'I am guitless,' Etienne said, looking away.

Father Mansart: Now you add this child's blood to your guilt,

On the steps of Notre Dame?

Etienne fumed. 'My conscious is clear!'

Father Mansart: You can lie to yourself and your minions,

You can claim that you haven't a quam,

But you'll never can run from nor hide what you've done from the eyes,

The very eyes of Notre Dame!

Javert: And for one time in his life, a power and control,

Etienne felt a twinge of fear for his immortal soul….

Etienne felt a shudder run through him. 'What should I do?'

'Care for the child, and raise it as your own,' Father Mansart said.

'What?!' Etienne snapped. 'I'm to be saddled with this misshapen-' He sighed. 'Very well. But let him live with you, in your church.'

Father Mansart looked up quizzically at the tall building. No place for a child… 'Live here? Where?'

'Anywhere,' Etienne seethed.

Etienne: Just so he's kept locked away where no one else can see,

'The bell tower, perhaps. Who knows, our Lord works in mysterious ways.'

Etienne: Even this foul creature may yet prove one day to be,

Of use… to me

'What will you name the child?' Father Mansart mused as Etienne climbed onto his horse.

'Me?' Etienne snapped. 'That foul child is too ugly, no name would suit! You choose, you old fool!'

He rode off out of sight, bringing up snow behind him. Father Mansart sighed and brought the child into the warmth of the church, climbed the stairs and settled him in a pile of clothes in the bell tower. A small fire crackled to keep the child warm. He sat down and stared at the little misshapen face. 'Poor thing…' he sighed in pity. 'Etienne doesn't know what he's done. I promise, child, I will shield you from him as much as I can.' The baby burbled and smiled. 'I'll call you after myself, then.' He picked up the child and rocked it. 'Erik.'

Javert: So here is a riddle, to guess if you can, sing the bells of Notre Dame,

Who is the monster and who is the man?

Sing the bells, bells, bells, bells, bells,

Bells of Notre Dame!

(Back to 1870. Erik is grown up, twenty years old.)

Erik walked out into the sunshine, the sunlight reflecting off his face. He smiled down at the square below. This was it…

He smiled as the nest nest to him shuffled, and the small, grey bird popped its head out. 'Good morning,' Erik greeted. 'Ready to fly today?'

The bird seemed to shy away. Erik gently picked it up. 'Really? It's a good day to try. If I was going to fly, this would be it! The Festival of Fools!' He stroked the little head. 'Go on. No one wants to stay here forever.'

He opened his hands, and the bird flitted off into the day. Erik sighed and retreated back into the shadows of the bell tower. If only he could fly away… leave this place. He smoothed old his sheets of music, the notes carefully written. Music was his only escape from this world, the only thing that gave him joy. He could lose himself in it, be free…

'Erik?' Erik jumped. Not Etienne….

He quickly stashed his sheets away. 'Yes?'

Father Mansart hobbled up the stairs. Erik sighed in relief, then ran to help him. 'Thank you, lad,' Father Mansart muttered, setlling himself down.

'I thought you were him,' Erik said.

'Ah… Etienne is out,' Father Mansart said. 'Don't worry, boy. He shouldn't be back just yet. How is your music?'

Erik sighed and pulled out his latest work. Father Mansart studied it. 'Hmm… interesting.'

'Yes, but…' Erik sighed. 'I don't know. I just can't find the words. And it's my best piece yet. Like something's…. missing.'

Father Mansart smiled. 'Your gift is truly something. You will find your inspiration, my boy, don't worry.' He looked at Erik with a sad smile. Poor child… Etienne had never let him outside the chapel and was adamant on keeping it that way. 'What is the trouble?'

'It's just…' Erik started, but then shook his head. 'It's silly. I musn't.'

'Come now, it's only old Father Mansart you're speaking to,' Father Mansart said kindly. 'I won't tell a soul.'

Erik sighed and sat down beside Father Mansart. 'It's just I want so bad to see the festival. And not from above… to be in it! With… people.'

Father Mansart felt a twinge of guilt. The poor boy…. He had no idea people would be so cruel. His face – it just wouldn't be accepted there. He'd be ridiculed. He put a hand on Erik's shoulder. 'I know, Erik. You really want this, don't you?'

'More than anything,' Erik said dreamily. 'Why… why won't Master Barye let me outside? Well, I mean, I know why, but why is it so bad? Why do I have to be some sort of monster?' His temper churned and started to rise up as angry tears formed in his eyes. 'No one else is like me!' He threw his music sheet away in anger. 'It's not fair…'

'I know, my boy,' Father Mansart said. 'But let me tell you something; just because you don't look like everyone else doesn't matter. It's what's inside you.'

'Master says I'm still a monster,' Erik grumbled. 'And I am – look at me, Father Mansart!'

Father Mansart sighed in defeat. 'You're only one if you think so,' he said. 'It's your decision who you are.'

The door creaked. They heard footsteps climbing the stairs. 'Oh no,' Erik said panicking. He quickly stashed away his music. 'He's here.'

There was a heart-stopping moment as the footsteps stopped. Then, the shadow of Etienne appeared. He climbed up the stairs slowly and purposefully, and when he reached the top gave them both a small smile. 'Ah, Father Mansart,' he said. 'Up in the bell tower in daylight hours? Surely your church needs attending to.'

'I am never to busy to visit the boy,' Father Mansart said slowly.

'I see,' Etienne said, looking at Erik. 'Demanding attention from the Archdeacon, are we, Erik?'

erik's eyes widened. 'N-no, sir, of course not,'

'Come now, Etienne,' Father Mansart reasoned. 'The boy is lonely.'

'I doubt you are a mind-reader, Mansart, so therefore you cannot possibly know the boy's feelings,' Etienne said coldly. 'He is not "lonely".'

'Etienne, really-'

'That will do,' Etienne said. 'Don't you have a Mass to prepare for?'

Father Mansart gave Erik an apologetic look. 'Yes, Minister,' he said, and headed down the stairs.

'Now,' Etienne said briskly. 'I've brought lunch.'

'Oh, thank you, Master,' Erik said, bringing out Etienne's silver goblet and plate and his wooden plate and cup. They sat down at the small table, and Etienne poured out watered-down wine into the cups, and set bread on the plates. 'Shall we review your alphabet?'

'Yes, Master,' Erik said.

'Very well,' Etienne said. 'A?'

'Abomination,' Erik said, not missing a beat.

'B?'

'Blasphemy.'

'C?'

'Contrition.'

'Good,' Etienne mused. 'D?'

'Damnation.'

'E?'

'Eternal damnation.'

'F?'

'Festival,' Erik immediately regretted the words as soon as they came out of his mouth.

'What?' Etienne said dangerously.

Erik tried to cover it up, but he couldn't think anymore. 'I…'

'You were thinking about going to the festival, weren't you?' Etienne said.

'It's just that you go every year,' Erik said nervously.

Etienne stood up. Erik waited for the blow that was to follow, but it didn't come. 'Erik, I am a public official, I must go. But I do not enjoy it!'

'I am sorry,' Erik hastily followed him. 'I hope I have not upset you, Master.'

They walked out onto the vast balcony. The city of Paris lay ahead in all its glory. 'You don't know what it's like,' Etienne said. 'I do, Erik. I do.'

Etienne: The world is cruel,

The world is wicked,

It's I alone that you can trust in this whole city,

I am your only friend,

I who keep you, teach you, feed you, dress you

I who look upon you without fear,

How can I protect you boy,

Unless you always stay in here?

Away in here….

You are deformed,

Erik: I am deformed,

Etienne: And you are ugly,

Erik: And I am ugly,

Etienne: And these are crimes for which the world shows little pity!

You do not comprehend,

Erik: You are my one defender,

Etienne: Out there they'll revile you as a monster,

Erik: I am a monster,

Etienne: Out there they will hate and scorn and jeer,

Erik: Only a monster,

Etienne: Why invite their calamy and consternation?

Stay in here!

Be faithful to me,

Erik: I'm faithful,

Etienne: Grateful to me

Erik: I'm grateful,

Etienne: Do as I say,

Obey,

And stay in here...

'You are good to me,' Erik said, lowering his head. 'I am sorry. I won't ask again.'

'You are forgiven,' Etienne said stiffly. 'But remember, Erik, this is your sanctuary.'

Erik thought as he walked away, out of sight. 'My sanctuary,'

Erik: Safe behind these windows and these parapets of stone,

Gazing at the people down below me,

All my life I watch them as I hide up here alone,

Hungry for the histories they show me,

All my life I've memorized their faces,

Knowing them as they will never know me,

All my life I wonder how it feels to pass a day,

Not above them,

But part of them!

And out there, living in the sun,

Give me one day out there,

All I ask is one

To hold forever,

Out there,

Where they all live unaware,

What I'd give,

What I'd dare,

Just to live one day out there!

Out there among the merchants and the bakers and their wives,

Through the roofs and gables I can see them,

Everu day they shout and scold and go about their lives,

Heedless of the gift it is to be them,

If I was in their skin,

I'd treasure

Every instant,

Out there, strolling by the Seine,

Give me one day out there,

Like ordinary me,

Who freely walk about there,

Just one day and then I swear I'll be content,

With my share,

Won't resent,

Won't despair,

Old and bent, I won't care,

I'll have spent one day out there