A/N - i don't own Danny Phantom or Beauty and the Beast

ok so this (as you may have gathered) is based loosely off of Beauty and the Beast (i love that story!), and is obviously A.U. hope you like it!


High up in one of the turrets of a great castle nestled into the side of a magnificent mountain three candles flickered happily. A storm raged outside, but the drapes were drawn and the three figures in the spacious room were oblivious to it.

A teenaged boy with dark skin was sparring playfully with a girl of the same dark skin tone, each clutching a wooden sword and using a large brass platter as a shield. Lying on his stomach on the bed a boy of the same age with midnight black hair was watching them, an intrigued smile on his face.

After a few minutes, the girl managed to knock the sword from the boy's hand and poked him gently in the stomach.

"Gotcha!" she said in joy, holding her sword above her head in victory.

"Well fought Valerie!" The dark haired boy congratulated. He slipped off the bed and went to help up his friend. "Don't worry Tucker."

Tucker shrugged. "I never was very good at it anyway."

"No, you weren't." Valerie agreed.

Tucker made a face, but dropped it quickly and the trio laughed happily.

Meanwhile downstairs the Great Hall was alive with activity on the stormy night. Servants bustled around fitfully, laughing as they knocked shoulders and spilled their various beverages and platters on the floor, or even sometimes on the guests – who were too pathetically drunk to notice. The revels had been going on for hours, yet the drink still flowed, and the kitchens were still busily working, churning out dish after dish, their quality dropping rapidly as it grew later and the guests became less aware of what they were stuffing into their mouths between lurid jokes and laughter.

The grand lord of the castle sat his broad frame back in his enormous chair at the head of the table, watching the revellers with amusement. He reached for his wine glass, barely noting the bellowing knock from the castle door. He was vaguely aware of a servant running past him to open the door. He assumed it was a very late guest, and reached forwards for his platter.

But a hand fell on his shoulder and stayed him. His servant, Michael, leant down to whisper in his ear.

"No, sorry," he replied, reaching once more for his food in excitement as Michael scurried off once more. The man sitting at his right hand gave him a puzzled look and set down his utensils.

"What was that?" Baron Masters asked him in curiosity.

He waved his huge hand dismissively. "Nothing, someone's trying to get into the castle from the storm. But we have no room unfortunately - the castle is full as it is."

The Baron nodded, accepting this, and drank once more from his goblet.

But Michael reappeared and spoke to his master again. "Sir, she will not leave."

The lord sighed greatly and stood up. His small wife looked up at him as he left, and he smiled at her reassuringly.

Nobody, of course, noticed the Baron sitting across from her gazing at her adoringly. Nobody ever did.

The lord walked over to the door Michael was holding open. He started in fright when he saw the woman before him. She was old – so old she looked as though she should not really be walking around. Like she should be in a coffin, deep in the ground. Her back was too hunched for her to be able to look up at the hulking man before her properly. Her eyes were hollow black dips in her wrinkled and sagging face. Her hands were wizened and freakishly thin and bony. Her knees tucked in to each other. She wore a heavy cape, pulling it close to herself against the bitter wind and stinging rain.

Revulsion shuddered down the large man's back as he looked at her. She tilted her head back at an unnatural angle to look at him.

"Please," she murmured. "Shelter?"

His mouth was open, his breaths deep and shaky. Horror filled him. Her ugliness was mesmerizing.

"No," he whispered in fear, his head shaking.

"Please," she begged. Her hand reached inside her gown, and when it returned back out a rose was laced between her fingers. A black rose, white staining the tips of each petal. It, like her, was horrible, yet mesmerizing.

She held it out to him, like an offering. "An enchanted rose. Please."

"No!" He shouted, the horror of the gothic rose adding to his fright. "No!" He slammed the door right in her face and backed away from it, swiping out at Michael to stay away.

His wife ran over to him, shocked at his terror.

"Jack?" she fussed. "Whatever is the matter?"

Suddenly the door was blown off its hinges and it shot into the room, sliding across the floor to stop just at Jack and his wife's feet.

"Get behind me Maddie!" He ordered, as she complied, terrified, clutching the silver locket around her neck for comfort.

Through the portal walked the old woman. Her eyes had narrowed to menacing slits, the rose still in her outstretched hand.

Hearing the screams and noises from downstairs, the three youths in the turret room exchanged looks.

"Let's go see what it is!" Valerie said excitedly, grabbing her sword.

"Yeah!" the pale skinned boy concurred, grabbing Tucker's.

"Uh, Valerie, Danny, I don't think,"

"Quiet Tuck!" the two children said in unison, not meanly, just sharply.

Valerie led the trio out of the room, followed by Danny and a quaking Tucker. They made their way quickly through the castle, taking the servants' routes Valerie and Tucker's parents had shown them before, snaking down passageways and stairwells, gaining momentum and curiosity when they began to notice and pass people screaming, crying and running for the exits.

They reached the Great Hall in the midst of terrible turmoil. Even more people were running and shouting, and guards were springing out of the woodwork and running to the great doors. Baron Masters sprinted towards the three, bypassing them and running away down the hall, for the kitchen, and the exit, before they could ask him what was wrong.

The three teens inched forwards, to the balcony. They looked down in shock at the scene playing out before them. Guards were lying immobile all over the floor, Michael along with them. Tucker stared in horror at his father's body. A creeping mist was all over the floor, the door blown off its hinges and allowing the gusts outside to bring in their destruction and the rain. In the midst of it all were Danny's parents, cowering on the floor before a hideous old woman who held a black flower in her wizened hand.

But before the trio's almost disbelieving eyes, pale tendrils of misty fog surrounded the woman, swirling mystically, and her horrible exterior melted away. When the mists cleared a beautiful woman with gleaming blonde hair, in a brilliant white dress stood in her place, still holding out the gothic rose.

"Wh-who are you?" Jack stammered.

Her voice was unearthly, echoing and lilting. "I am Alira – the Ghost of the Heart." Her free hand came up to point at the cowering man before her. "And you – Lord Fenton – your heart is empty. Your heart lacks love."

"That's not true!" Jack protested vehemently, his voice afraid. "I love my wife! I love my son!"

She hissed at him inhumanly, her perfect teeth bared, her hand lowering. "But you lacked the feeling in your heart needed to accept a poor old woman into your home for the night! You fool! You lack real love."


"Yes!" She snapped at him, the white aura glowing around her sharpening and swirling madly. "You do not know what real love is."

"Then tell me!"

"It's too late for that – for you." She raised the glowing hand in his direction once more.


Her head snapped up as the voice's sudden loud cry reverberated around the cavernous room. She caught sight of the young man on the balcony. She smiled and lifted her hand to him. Under her power he floated down to the space between her and his parents, and fell to sit on the stone, his legs splayed, his hands on the floor behind him, his whole body drawn back in fear.

"Danny!" Maddie screamed in fear.

"It may be too late for you, Lord Fenton, but your son? Your son I will give a chance. He does not deserve to die for your mistakes."

She closed her eyes, and when they reopened they were glowing white. "I curse this castle. I condemn Lord and Lady Fenton to oblivion. I curse this boy – Daniel Fenton. I curse him to be a hideous, horrible creature. I curse him to strike fear into the hearts of all who behold him. And in this unlovable form he must find love. He must learn what real love is. If he manages to do this, he and his parents, along with everyone else in this building will be freed from my curse.

"But if he has not done so by the time the last petal from this rose has fallen, he, too, along with everyone else in this castle will suffer their fate for all eternity!"

The rose lifted into the air before her, away from her outreached hands, turning slightly. Suddenly she clapped her hands together. From them a terrible white energy radiated, wiping across the whole castle, enveloping the terror-stricken forms of the lord and lady of the castle, their son, his friends up on the balcony, each and every servant in the whole castle, the lone Baron, paralyzed just inches from the kitchen door and his escape.

Unnoticed by anyone, the pressure of the blast ripped the locket from Lady Fenton's neck and sent it, glowing supernaturally, flying out of the open double doors and down the steep mountainside, tumbling down amongst the pines.

The village below noticed the light shining out, and terror struck them deeply. To this day, none have ever set foot in the forest surrounding the ancient mountain.

Deep within the castle a huddled form sat, mourning softly. Something struck within him and he looked up at the black rose floating in the middle of the dark room, glowing white, turning slightly in the air.

A petal detached itself from the outside of the flower and tumbled softly to the floor.

An otherworldly howl of pain echoed through the castle, followed by a flash of green light. The huddled figure gaped at the incinerated mirror in horror, the shards reflecting his terrible appearance hundreds of time over. He looked at his glowing green hand in agony, burying his face in the arms that rested on his drawn up knees.

It was hopeless, and he knew it. It was a trick curse. It was impossible.

For who could ever love…a ghost?

you likey? please review!

constructive critisism and plot ideas/things you wanna see are always welcome! à bientôt!

FunkyFish1991 xXx