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Chapter Text

"Goodbye, darling Phoebus!" called Esmeralda from her carriage, as her and Madeline waved goodbye to their husbands. "Madeline and I are off to the Joan of Arc memorial, out in the countryside. You take care of the bratling for a while."

"Joan of Arc wasn't even that cool," Phoebus grumbled as he grabbed his son, Zephyr, by the hand. "She was a no-good commie!"

"Joan of Arc was SO cool!" yelled Esmeralda. "And what do you mean she was a commie?"

Meanwhile, Madeline and Quasimodo were lovingly gazing into each others eyes, lamenting the fact that they would not see one another for the entire day.

"I love you so much, Quasi," said Madeline, smiley as a summer's day.

"I love you too," drooled Quasimodo. "You're so beautiful. I'll miss seeing you all the time."

"You're not so beautiful," gushed Madeline. "Your innards are, though."

Suddenly, Quasi and Madeline heard a shout, "YOU'RE SO SEXIST! JOAN OF ARC IS MY FAVORITE HISTORY PERSON! I HATE MEN! I WANTED A DAUGHTER, BUT YOU DECIDED TO ADD ANOTHER UGLY PENIS TO THE FAMILY, INSTEAD!"

Zephyr began to cry as his mother screeched.

"Anyway," she added, "Goodbye, darling Phoebus. See you in two days...or three...well, whenever I decide to come back."

"Goodbye, darling Esmeralda," said Phoebus, ignoring his crying son, as the carriage began to pull away.

The three males began to walk towards Notre Dame.

"Dang it, Quasi!" snapped Phoebus as they entered. "I don't want to take care of this stupid, ugly kid."

Zephyr began to wail.

"What's wrong with being ugly?" asked Quasi, hurt by his friend's comment.

"Well, obviously it looks fine on you. You can actually pull it off!" He gave his son a disappointed glare.

At this point, they had begun to climb the stairs to the bell tower, and Quasi immediately began polishing his precious bells when they got to them.

"Hey, Achilles and I made plans to go to the bar. Maybe I'll help him pick up some sexy lady horses. Although, at this point, he might settle for a donkey," said Phoebus.

"But kids aren't allowed in bars," said Quasi, "The only bars kids are allowed to have are candy bars."

"No. No, you don't get any candy, Zephyr," said Phoebus, as his son's face began to leave it's depressed state. "Anyway, Quasi, I'm leaving the kid with you."

"With me?" said Quasi, surprised, "I can't take him, I need to polish my bells."

"But, Quasi," said Zephyr, sadly, "You said we were best friends forever, remember?  We sang a song and everything!"

"Yeah. And then I got a hot wife," smirked Quasimodo. "If I wanted an ugly little kid, I'd jut knock her up."

"But Quaaaaasiii, I wanna get drunk!" whined Phoebus. "Darling Esmeralda won't let me, since we got married. If I would have been sober I never would have married her in the first place. But then...she was really hot...and there was that whole really touching thing where you saved all our lives and the city, and...I just got so caught up in the moment! You have to take him! It's your fault he exists! If you would have made a move earlier he'd be yours anyway!"

"If you want a babysitter so badly, just take him to the Court of Miracles! Have someone else take care of him. Everyone there owes Esmeralda in some way or another anyways!" snapped Quasimodo.

"Fine!" growled Phoebus. "Stupid Joan of Arc! Making me go through so much trouble...Come on, Zephyr, let's got take you to your Uncle Clopin and his friends."

And with that, the two left the hunchback in peace. Quasimodo sighed in relief. Silly Quasi. If only you knew...

Chapter Text

Poor Clopin.  Clopin was many things; a puppeteer, the King of the Court of Miracles, and even a good friend, when you needed him.  One thing he was not, was in love.  Especially not with all of the girls that happened to be standing around him in the Court of Miracles that day.  And yes, we are referring to your OC.

Poor Clopin was surrounded by these girls, none of which had faces.  Nobody knew why these young women were without faces.  It may have something to do with their lack of personality, or the fact that God designed them so that any random, desperate, lady could put herself in that young woman without a face's shoes.  Whatever the case may be, poor Clopin had no clue how to escape these girls, as they all shouted about how unique and different they were, because they did things like be abused, unloved, or played video games.  Colpin had no clue what these "video games" were, but he had little interest.  What he was concerned with, was escape.

"What are we going to do?" He asked his puppet, as he looked around for a way to escape the cluster of faceless romantics.  There was none.

"Well..." mused the puppet, "we can hit them with a blunt object."

"Fabulous idea!" exclaimed Clopin.  He then proceeded to attack one of the girls, smashing her over the head with none other than Puppet.

"Ow! Ow, ow! That hurts! Stop it!" Puppet shrieked.

"But you're the bluntest object I have!" cried Clopin.

Just then, a voice rang out, "Heeey! I need to drop junior off.  Any volunteers?"

Clopin turned to see Phoebus and Zephyr through the crowd of girls, who were all grabbing at his man parts.

"Yes! Yes! Anything!" shouted Clopin, in distress, "Just so long as you get these strange women away from me!"

"Sure thing, Your Royal Gypsiness," said Phoebus, "Hey ladies," said Phoebuss slyly, "I happened to pass Draco Malfoy on my way down here.  If you're lucky, you might just catch him."

"Draco Malfoy!" exclaimed Clopin, as all of the faceless girls began to rush out of the Court of Miracles, "He is SUCH a dream!  He's so misunderstood, and adorable, and I just LOVE the magical bad boy thing!"

"Clopin!" snapped Phoebus, "This isn't a slash fic!  The time will come for that."

"Awww," sighed Puppet, sadly.

"Yes, yes.  Now, you've got a babysitting job to do," said Phoebus, "And don't expect me back until morning."

"Yes, yes, that's all fine," said Clopin, "But what exactly am I supposed to DO with the boy?"

"I don't know.  Watch him," said Phoebus.  And with that, he was gone.

"Well then," muttered Clopin, staring at Zephyr.  He wasn't a stranger to children, he preformed plays for them in the streets all the time, but actually watching one, for an entire night?  That was new to him.

"So you're Esmeralda's son, hmm?" Clopin queried, "Your mom and I were great friends when she lived here.  We grew up together.  Strange I haven't had more involvement in your upbringing."

"It's okay.  No one was really involved in my upbringing.  Quasimodo was once, but then he got married to that circus slut and hates me now," said Zephyr sadly, his little blond head hanging low.

Clopin frowned.  He was used to the laughter and joy of children, not the emo depression this kid had.

"My parents don't love me very much," Zephyr continued to whine, "Ever since the only real friend they have stopped being single."

"Um...I'm sorry...what's your name again?" asked Clopin, uncomfortable with all the sadness.

"Zephyr.  Not that it matters."

"Well, Zephyr, I'm Clopin! King of this place!" said Clopin warmly.

"And I'm-" started Puppet.

"Shush!" snapped Clopin, "Nobody cares!"

Zephyr giggled a little, and Clopin smiled.  Perhaps there was a little joy left in the boy.

"So, you've already met Puppet.  Would you like to see some of my other fun toys and gadgets?"

"Not your..." inquired Zephyr, with a scared look on his face.

"NO!" exclaimed Clopin, "N-NO! Never! No!"

"Good.  I was afraid this was going to turn into one of those stories," said Zephyr, relived.

"Alright. Now would you like to see my actual toys and actual gadgets?  You know, my cool, magical stuff?" asked Clopin, a tad more hesitant.

"Sure!" said Zephyr.  The poor kid couldn't remember the last time someone actually wanted to pay attention to him.  It had been so long since he and Quasi went on their last adventure or played tag.

Clopin brought Zephyr to a rather large crack in the wall.  They both slipped through it, entering a small cave.  Scattered about were some of the most fantastic things Zephyr had ever seen:  Jewels of very shape and color, maps of all sorts, puppets of all kinds, their faces showing every emotion under the sun, and colorful juggling balls, wooden animals, and plushs of all sorts.

"Wowie, Clopin!  You have such cool stuff!"

"Well, most of it was stolen," muttered the King, unheard by the small boy.  Honestly, Clopin was tired of stealing things.  He just wanted to have fun.  To amuse and be amused.  Stealing things never much amused him, since the people of Paris were so easy to trick. It was so boring.

"Hey, what's this?" asked Zephyr, as he pulled a dusty, emerald book off of a shelf in the corner.

"Oooooh," Clopin smiled wide, taking the book from the small boy, "I remember this book. I stole it from- I mean, it used to belong to a witch."

"A witch?" asked Zephyr, full of curiosity, "A real live witch?"

"Well, she was alive once, before she was burned at the stake," said Clopin, "Anyway, this is a very old book.  Perhaps we should put it back."

"Aww. You should read it to me, Clopin.  Please?" Asked the boy, with pleading eyes.  It had been so long since anyone had read to him.

"Well..." said Clopin, flipping through the pages.  He really did remember this book now.  It had indeed belonged to a witch.   But it wasn't a book of potions or spells, it was a book on how to raise the dead.  Many interesting theories were within its pages, but none would actually work.  They couldn't.  No one could raise the dead.  Still...it couldn't hurt to try, could it?  One chapter in particular caught his eye.  Becoming King of the Undead.  Well, he was tired of this whole "King of the Gypsies" business.  Maybe it was time for a change....

"Alright Zephyr, just one chapter, though.  This one is interesting.  It's an incantation on how to raise the dead," smiled Clopin, "It won't work, of course, but it'll be a fun read."

Puppet shook his head frantically, "I don't like this idea."

"Oh, quiet!  You worry too much!" snapped Clopin.  And then, he began to read:

"Oh, great spirits of the deceased

Won't you come out of your graves in one piece?

Only to obey my laws

Or you'll be banished among the stars

Timey Wimey

Spacey Wacey

Wake up from your sleep

Your souls will all be mine to keep

Forever and ever

You'll have to heed

Me as your ruler, in order to succeed

But fear not, for you shall be rewarded

With the flesh of the living

It's them who shall be distorted

So come on up and come to life

And be my slaves

Until you again die."

Chapter Text

Fog and smoke rose up from every crack and crevice of the cave and consumed the air.  Clopin and Zephyr looked around at the area, but could see very little.  It was not until they heard the footsteps from outside the crack that they realized that, holy crap, it had worked.

"Interesting!" Clopin smiled, before realizing that he may have gotten the poor kid into danger.

"Clopin..." said Zephyr shakily, "Wha-what's happening?" he looked around, frightened.

Clopin didn't know how to reply. Was he really about to be the ruler of the undead?

"I told you this was a bad idea!" shrieked Puppet, clinging to Zephyr's arm.  The ground began to rumble and shake.  The walls of the cave began to split.

Instinctively, Clopin grabbed Zephyr and ran out of the cave, only to see the frightening sight of his new army.  The skeletons and bodies that had once lined the Court of Miracles were now beginning to kneel before their King.  King Clopin.  Not King of the Gypsies, but King of the Zombies.

"It really worked," Zephyr whispered in amazement and fear, as Clopin clutched him tighter.

"I won't let them harm you," said Clopin protectively, "We'll get out of this alive, I promise."

"Dummy!" said Puppet, "Aren't you their king, or something? It said so in the spooky witch book."

Clopin's face lit up, "Riiiight!"  He looked to the kneeling undead, "Alright! First rule! You are not allowed to kill me or my young friend here, at least not until tomorrow.  I have to take care of him tonight," Zephyr looked horrified.

"What about me?" shirked Puppet.

"Why would they be interested in you?  You're made of cloth." Cloppin reminded him.

"Why must you remind me!" cried Puppet.

"Shut up.  Now, rule number two: You MUST destroy all people without faces."

The zombies began to turn away, presumably to go after those many faceless women.

"I didn't say you could leave yet!" shouted Clopin.  The zombies stopped.  "Good. Now...my third rule is...what is my third rule?" he paused to think.  These types of things always had to come in threes.  Then he found himself imagining a sexy blond man, and he had it, "My third rule is: Do not harm Draco Malfoy.  He's been through enough already!  Now go, my minions, and entertain me!" And with that, the undead began to stumble onto the streets of Paris, hungry for flesh.

"Oh, this shall be such fun!" Clopin exclaimed, twirling Zephyr around, before putting the boy down, "And I have you to thank, my boy!"

Zephyr felt sick to his stomach.

"He really is quite crazy, you know," said Puppet.

"Come, young one," said Clopin, "The night is young, and my army is ripe.  Let's enjoy it."  Clopin began up, into the city, cackling with laughter.  Zephyr shakily followed.

"I need to get out of here," thought Zephyr, "I should go to Quasi. He'll know what to do. He's saved Paris before, I know he can do it again."

And with that thought, he ran.  Ran from the Court of Miracles and Clopin, and headed straight for the cathedral.

Chapter Text

Clopin and his minions of the undead marched through the streets of Paris, Clopin singing as they went.

"Death, death, blood and guts!  Everyone is going nuts.  Some bodies thrown here, some heads are rolling there!  Everybody's in for a good scare!"

The people of the city of Paris were quite alarmed by this.  As you may very well know, they had never seen zombies before.  They were unsure of how to respond to these new visitors, and so, they scattered in fear and hid in their houses, shutters closed and doors locked.  All except for one little blond girl in a blue dress (you may recognize her from the movie).

She ran up with a face full of glee to one of Clopin's most gruesome army members.  This particular zombie's name was Gregory, and that was all he could remember.  That, and that he had been really bad at whatever job he once had.

The little girl decided that it would be a fabulous idea to attempt to stroke Gregory the zombie's face.  Perhaps it would make the brute stop tearing the limbs off of her neighbor's bodies.  However, that didn't work as planned.  Gregory was startled by the little blond girl's touching, so he acted in fear.  Before anyone could blink or realize the girl's error, her head was seen rolling down the street, still with that cheerful grin on her face.

Further into Paris, lay the graveyard.  The graveyard was filled with restless souls, rising from their graves to join Clopin's army.  One zombie in particular was clawing out of the ground more vigorously than the others.  This was the zombie of Judge Claude Frollo.  He did not wish to join the army, despite the magic Clopin had unleashed, pulling him toward it.  No.  Frollo wanted something else.  Frollo wanted revenge.  Revenge, and a certain lady (NO! NOT your OC).

The former judge looked around, taking in his surroundings, when he spotted a young, blond boy running by.  The boy looked oddly familiar.

"C-Captain P-Phoebus?" Croaked Frollo, using his voice for the first time in years.

The boy certainly resembled the Captain of the Guard, and Frollo, hellbent on revenge, slowly started towards the kid.  The problem was, the kid was running, and there was no way that Frollo could catch up to him.  He hadn't been up on two legs for quite some time.  However, he was determined.  That no-good blondish knight had betrayed him and stolen his girl, after all.

As Frollo made his way through the streets after the young-un, Clopin was commanding his zombie army to ransack an ice cream shop, "I want it all!  All of the creamy goodness!" Clopin shouted.

Frollo ignored his master and made his way after the child, until he could see the Notre Dame Cathedral.  The young Pheobus-like boy ran inside.  All at once, painful memories began to flood into Frollo's mind.  Madly, the zombie pounded at the door, finding it locked.

"ESMERALDA!" Screamed zombie Frollo, "YOU WILL BE MIIIIIIINE!"

Chapter Text

Meanwhile, while his son was running for his dear little life, Phoebus was forcing shots down Achilles' horse throat. He figured it would help his steed to smooth talk the ladies.  Phoebus was quite drunk, himself.  He, however, was making no headway with the ladies, himself.  One of the ladies that he was smitten with was a blonde named Fleur de Lys.  They dated at one time or another and he was trying to rekindle the relationship despite his marriage to his "beloved" wife Esmeralda.  Esmeralda may have been the most beautiful lady in all of France, but Fleur was a not-so-close second, and Phoebus was a jerk.

Achilles, on the other hand, was not having much luck with the same species, however, there was a lovely Eagle Owl named, Glory.  She was the most wonderful, beautiful, and amazing owl in the whole wide world, at least compared to the owls Achilles had seen in his life.

"Hey, there," neighed Achilles to the Eagle Owl, "I have not seen you around these parts before."

"There was an issue with the Floo Network, my master and I are stuck here until further notice," the owl replied, "So, I have decided to get a drink or two.  The butterbeer is not very good, though."

"Jeez, lady, I was just trying to flirt.  I didn't want a self-documentary on your life, because I totally know what documentaries are."  The horse retorted.

At this, the owl began cry, "Do you have any idea how hard it is to be me?  I was living the greatest owl-life imaginable until my master wore a Time-Turner while taking the Floo Network to Paris!  Do you have any idea, what it is like being stuck here in 14th Century France, where you live?!"

Achilles, although he wished to say something snarky and sarcastic in reply, decided otherwise, because, hey, that owl was really hot, and she would make quite the stable-side companion that night.  Instead, he decided to sympathize, "Oh, you poor thing!  I too understand what it is like to have a stupid, idiotic master," he said nodding to Phoebus, "as a matter of fact, if my master had a Timmy Turner in the flower network, he would get messed up too."

Glory, the owl, could not argue this logic after seeing Phoebus stumble around with a bottle of booze in his hand.  She also decided not to correct the horse on his word usage, seeing that he was a Muggle horse.

As the two animals continued to acquaint themselves with one another, Phoebus decided to have a look out the window of the pub. He was astonished by what he saw.

"Wow," he commented, "that bloke with the rotting flesh sure is thin.  I wonder what his secret is?  Perhaps if I tell him how I've gotten my hair so shiny and luscious, he may exchange tips on how to get fitter." And with this goal in mind, Phoebus left his horse and set out to speak to the undead young man.

"I'll ask you one last time, baker-man.  Where is your lifetime supply of pies?" Shouted Clopin from the rooftop of a bakery.  His zombie army surrounded a rather portly man who had recently urinated in his trousers.  The undead army waited for command to move in on the baker.

"I-I can't tell you, sir.  Those pies are my treasure, and I love them all," stuttered the baker.

"Well, we'll see about that, Mister bread-man!" cried Clopin, "Attack!"

And, suddenly, the zombies were upon the baker.  However, they weren't eating him…yet.  Instead, they dragged him inside of the bakery, and neatly put on the aprons that were lying around.  They then began to knead some dough the baker had left on the counter.

"What are you doing?!" exclaimed the baker, as Clopin's army held him down, and began covering him in melted butter and flour. The zombies were baking a pie. A baker pie.

"Heeeeeey! Heeeeey!" shouted Phoebus, "Come back!"

Phoebus had spotted his undead target at the bakery, and had been chasing him for a few minutes, now.

"I just want to know how you got so sexy!"

The zombie just continued to run through the city, munching on human limbs as he went.

"Come oooooon, man!  I'll tell you how my hair got so soft and glorious!  A hunchback pets it!  All the time!" Still, the thin zombie ran.

Finally, once Phoebus was out of breath, he noticed what the zombie was really up to; eating human limbs.

"Hmmm," he thought to himself, "Perhaps that's how he stays so hot.  An arm diet.  I should try that." In the distance, the ex-captain of the guard saw a thin man standing in the doorway of the bakery, laughing to himself manically.  "He looks healthy," stated Phoebus.  And then, he ran to the man, not realizing that the person he was about to attempt to eat was his son's babysitter.  Sharply, he bit down on the man's arm drawing blood.  It tasted terrible, like metal.  This man had way too much iron in his blood.

Suddenly, Phoebus heard a shrill scream, and he looked to see the man's right hand.  Upon it was a little jester puppet.

"Oh, crap."