My sister and I were having a Disney marathon recently and we watched Hunchback of Notre Dame and the live action Cinderella back to back. My sister then challenged me to do a crossover and this is the result. I loved Lily James in the role and it's the only Disney live action remake I've liked so far. Plus Clopin was a character who always fascinated me as a kid and he went and stole my heart all over again, so I wanted an excuse to write about him. Am I crazy? Most likely.

This is set before the events of Cinderella, before her father remarries and I suppose during the HoND. Yes, I know the timeline is all over the place but hey ho, whatever. I wasn't sure how old Ella was meant to be in the movie, so I'm making her somewhere around 17/18 in this.

Disclaimer: I own nothing except my own sanity.

Hope you enjoy!

Mon Papillon

"Live like the butterfly...scattering joy, beauty and kindness wherever you go."

Ella could not stop smiling. In fact, she could barely keep still, for she had never been more excited in her life.

She hadn't really seen a lot of the world that lay outside their little kingdom which she called home. Yet now, for the first time in her seventeen years of existence, she was to have her very own adventure out in the great wide somewhere, along with her beloved father.

As a merchant, his business dealings often took him far and wide to foreign climes and he would be away from home for weeks - sometimes even months at a time. Usually, Ella's father would embark upon these excursions alone and the pair missed each other dreadfully when they were apart.

On this occasion, however, it was to be different. He was spending a few days in Paris, and had thought Ella would like the chance to accompany him on his travels for once in order to enjoy the sights.

Ella was simply thrilled at the idea! She had only ever heard about the wonders of the 'City of Romance' from her papa's tales...in between him teaching her French or when he'd brought home the loveliest little mementoes.

She remembered as a child, one of her favourite keepsakes he had brought her back was a green trinket box which opened up to reveal those pretty paper papillons. Such a simple little token but oh, how she treasured them with all her heart.

But now Ella could scarcely believe that she really was here in Paris itself, with the chance to experience it all with her very own eyes...and she couldn't have been any happier about it.

Upon their arrival to the city yesterday evening, as their horse and cart trundled through the narrow streets to the inn which they were to stay in for the duration of their visit, Ella gazed around in wonder, wishing she had several more eyes so as to take in everything at once. In the fading evening light, she was most intrigued to see there were a number of people hanging up cheerful-looking streams of banners and bunting in various colours.

"What are all these decorations for, Father?" she had asked curiously.

"Ah yes, of course! Tomorrow is the sixth," he answered, suddenly remembering, "Looks like we arrived just in time for the Feast of Fools..." At Ella's querying glance, he elaborated, "People dress up in bizarre costumes...there's jugglers and dancing. A day to throw the rules out of the window!" he finished with a boyish smile, looking most excited at the prospect.

Ella's brown eyes lit up at these words.

"How wonderful, that sounds like so much fun! Oh, please may we go?" she begged him.

"Well, let's see now...we don't have to leave for a few days yet. It'd be a great pity if we were to miss it. Why not?"

That following morning on the day of the sixth dawned bright and cold. Ella and her father rose early to be greeted by the sweet sound of twittering birdsong and the distant toll of bells.

His meeting with the other city merchants was to take precedence that morning but he promised Ella sincerely that the minute it was over and he was free from business obligations, he'd show her around the delights of Paris and they would spend some quality time together.

"I shouldn't be any longer than a couple of hours or so," he assured his daughter, as he packed some papers into his bag, "Then we can meet here later and go to the festival together. What are you going to get up to in my absence?" he added.

"I thought I might go and explore the marketplace - or marché, I should say." Ella corrected herself, "And then maybe take a stroll by the Seine... Oh, there's so much I want to see while we're here!" she said, bobbing up and down on the balls of her feet with a child-like enthusiasm.

The older man gave a warm smile at her eagerness, knowing how much it meant to her to be here.

"Well, this trip will be the perfect chance to put your proficiency at French to the test, at least," he said, resting a hand on her shoulder briefly and planting an affectionate kiss on her forehead.

Ella walked arm-in-arm with him to the inn door and then watched him cross the chilly little courtyard to climb aboard his cart. Before he took his leave, however, he regarded her anxiously, brows furrowed with slight concern.

"Sure you'll be alright on your own? This is a big city, I would hate for you to get yourself lost."

"Of course, Father," she replied, placing a soothing hand on his arm, "I will be fine."

"All the same, be careful and don't wander too far," he warned, "I'd feel happier if you were to stay where there's lots of people. There might well be thieves or gypsies about."

"Good luck with your meeting," she told him.

"Have fun, my darling!" he called, waving goodbye as he departed.

After bidding her father farewell, Ella wrapped a woollen shawl around her shoulders to help stave off the chilly January air. Basket in hand, she herself wasted no time in setting off onto the narrow, winding streets, eager to explore this new world.

It was a beautiful day out for the time of year; the sky was a clear forget-me-not blue, hardly a wisp of a cloud to be seen. Frost glittered upon the cobblestones beneath her feet in the pale winter sunshine. It was almost as though the weather, too, was making a special effort for the day's celebrations.

Taking care to side-step some icy puddles, Ella exhaled a contented sigh, her breath mushrooming out before her in misty clouds. It was a somewhat daunting prospect to venture out into an unknown city by one's self, but, as ever in times of uncertainty, she could hear her mother's voice echo those comforting words in her mind:

Have courage...and all will be well...

Humming one of her favourite tunes, Sing Sweet Nightingale, as she strolled along, it didn't take her long to find the bustling marketplace. It was a hive of activity. More streams of banners lined the street in honour for the festival, and she had a fine old time looking around at all that the different stalls had to offer.

A sense of great anticipation permeated the air, mingling in with the scent of smoked fish and freshly baked bread. Everybody Ella came across spoke with the same excitable buzz. It was clear the festival was something of an annual highlight. The citizens of Paris nodded and waved cheerily to her; street vendors called out as she browsed, trying to tempt her to buy from their stalls.

As she neared towards the heart of town, here the street opened out into a cobblestoned square. It seemed that this was where the Feast was to be held; people wandered to and fro, busy with the task of preparing for the afternoon's entertainments.

More bunting and flags fluttered in the breeze, and as far as the eye could see, a makeshift village of brightly coloured tents had been laid out. Right in the centre of it all, in pride of place, stood a wooden stage covered in patterned silks and bright fabrics. Already, everything looked very festive and there was a wonderful atmosphere about the place. As Ella passed by, she could see the setting up of yet more stalls to sell food and all manner of trinkets besides...piles upon piles of barrels, no doubt containing wine and ale. The Feast of Fools looked set to be a merry gathering indeed!

She found she had wandered into the presence of the mighty building that was Notre Dame herself. But oh, what a sight this great lady was to behold! Ella's eyes widened and she could not contain the little gasp of awe which escaped her. Though her knowledge of architecture was limited, there was no denying how impressive the cathedral church was.

It towered above all the other Parisian rooftops, drawing the eye like a beacon. She wasn't certain how long she lingered there, admiring the sculptures of the various saints and apostles, the grimacing gargoyles and the way that the winter sunlight caught the stained glass windows in a dazzling rainbow prism, when she was distracted.

A voice, strong and lilting, rang out from across the square, floating on the cool breeze over to where she stood. Ella tore her gaze from the splendour of Notre Dame's exterior to look around for the source.

Not too far away, in the cathedral's shadow, she could see a caravan painted in a myriad of cheerful colours. A small cluster of children were gathered by it, their laughter echoing around the square.

Curiosity getting the better of her, Ella slowly approached.

One could hardly fail to miss the owner of the voice. If the caravan was brightly-coloured, then it was nothing compared to the man who occupied it; clad in eye-popping hues of chiefly purple, blue and golden yellow. On any other, they would look quite absurd, frankly. But on him...somehow it seemed to suit him so well.

The children were listening attentively to a story he was performing to them; his tall, lean figure acting the roles with great flair and flamboyance with the aid of a glove puppet, which on closer inspection, Ella realised was a tiny replica of the man himself.

They shared the same wide-brimmed hat, long black gloves and colourful attire; there were bells on his tunic so that he jingled with his rapid, animated movements. They had the same jaw-length raven hair and even a matching single gold hoop which adorned his right ear.

Ella had to admit the puppeteer was quite the handsome figure, his pointed goatee nicely complimenting his angular features. Though most of his face was obscured by a purple mask trimmed with gold thread, it gave him a mysterious air, and so all that could be seen were his dark, shining eyes.

Oh, but those eyes... It was they which captured her attention and fascinated her the most. They were quick and sharp, inky black orbs flitting from place to place.

So caught up in her observations, it was a moment or two before Ella realised that those eyes had locked with her own. She started and blushed a little at being caught staring so boldly at him.

A wide grin spread across the man's face but his focus soon returned to his young audience. He seemed to have reached the tail end of his story now, for the children cheered and were clapping their praise and glee.

As Ella drew closer, she could now hear what was being said more clearly.

"...Now, mes enfants," he was saying jovially, leaning his elbows upon the ledge of his caravan as he looked down at them all, "which one shall we have next?"

"Tell us about the bell ringer, Clopin!" requested a curly-haired boy who couldn't have been any older than seven.

"Ah, but Pierre," the puppeteer crowed with a dramatic wave of his arm, "that is not a happy tale for today of all days! And besides," he flashed a roguish smile in Ella's direction, "it wouldn't do to scare our pretty guest here, now would it? Such a dark story may frighten her."

A very pretty guest indeed, he could not help noticing...

Ella smiled shyly at his jesting tone, and her cheeks took on a rosier shade when he even shot her a flirtatious wink.

A small girl dressed in mauve skirts nearby turned to take Ella's hand and gently tug her closer to the caravan.

"He's very good," she whispered conspiratorially to the taller girl, "If you get too scared, you can hold my hand, if you like."

"That's very considerate of you," Ella whispered back to her with a smile, "but I think I'll be alright, thank you."

Meanwhile, there came a chorus of wheedling cries of, "Aw, please, Clopin, please tell us!" from the rest of the children.

The man known as Clopin made a real show of pretending to have been worn down by their coaxes and pleading. He gave a heavy, exaggerated sigh before favouring them with a bright smile.

"Very well, mes amies, I should hate to disappoint you..." Right on cue, the mighty bells from the towering cathedral above them began to toll. Clopin held a hand up to his ear at the sound of their deep sepulchral tones. "Ahh, what excellent timing those bells have, no? Are they not beautiful? So many colours of sound...so many changing moods... But they don't ring all by themselves, you know..."

"They don't?" piped a shrill voice in surprise as the little glove puppet popped up seemingly from nowhere.

"No, you silly boy!" Clopin told the puppet, "Way up there, high, high in the dark bell tower lives the mysterious bell ringer. But who is this creature?"

"Who?" squeaked Puppet-Clopin.

"What is he?"

"What?"

"How did he come to be there?"

"How?"

"Hush!" he chastised the puppet, thwacking him on the head with a stick he had produced from up his sleeve, causing his small cloth doppelgänger to whine in pain and rub at his head.

There was an outbreak of giggles from the surrounding children and Ella could not resist joining in laughing at the puppeteer's antics. The little girl had been right in saying that he was very good at this.

"And Clopin will tell you... It is a tale..." Here, he adopted a more dramatic stage whisper, "a tale of a man and the monster...

Dark was the night when our tale was begun on the docks near Notre Dame..."

Through the power of song and the aid of his puppets, Clopin proceeded to launch into the story of the mysterious bell ringer who resided in the cathedral. By the sound of things, it appeared to be a great favourite with the children. And yet, being as gifted as he was in the art of storytelling, they listened intently...hanging on to his every word as if this was the first time they had ever heard it.

Ella, too, listened, her eyes as wide as any of the youngsters' around her; both equally captivated by the dark and thrilling tale of the gypsies and horrified by Judge Claude Frollo's cruel attempts to drown a poor, defenceless baby in a well.

"...and Frollo gave the child a cruel name..." Clopin concluded, "a name which means 'half-formed'... Quasimodo...

Now, 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, bells, bells of Notre Dame...!"

Ella stood enthralled, not only by the tale but also at the man's obvious talent. Goosebumps had erupted up and down her arms from hearing that superb soaring last note of Clopin's song. She broke out of her reverie only to hang her basket over the crook of one elbow so that she could join in with the children's applause with great enthusiasm.

"I'm afraid that is all I have time for today, mes amies..." Clopin said amid a chorus of disappointed sighs and groans from the group, "Now run along, little ones, before I get a scolding from your mamas for keeping you all... Hurry, you don't wish to be late for the festival now!"

As the children began to disperse and skip off on their merry little ways, Ella now approached the caravan.

Something in the back of her mind - not unlike her father's voice - told her she ought to move on; he had warned her only that morning of gypsies' untrustworthiness... They were meant to be steeped in witchcraft and wickedness. Yet still she felt drawn to stay and commend the man in some way.

But Ella liked to believe in the good in people, for she was a girl who saw the world not always as it was but as perhaps it could have been. After all, what wickedness was the man doing anyhow? He was only entertaining the little ones with stories... There was no harm in that, surely?

Have courage, be kind, she told herself.

The gypsy puppeteer had hopped down the steps onto the cobblestones and was faintly surprised to see that the pretty maiden had remained behind. Leaning his lithe figure against the side of his caravan with a sort of casual elegance, his sharp eyes watched her with a curious intensity through his mask.

"Did you enjoy the tale, mademoiselle?" he asked her.

"Very much, monsieur. You're a wonderful storyteller," she complimented.

He bent low to give a theatrical bow, sweeping off his plumed hat. "Merci beaucoup."

As he straightened again, Clopin's dark gaze swept quickly over the stranger, for stranger she was. By sight, he was familiar with many of the local townspeople who passed by his caravan each morning but he had never clapped eyes on this young woman before. He would certainly have remembered if he had... She was indeed very beautiful.

"Tell me, does Quasimodo's story have a happy ending?" Ella asked, "They're quite my favourite sort."

"Ah, that I really couldn't say..." said he, replacing his hat and playfully wagging a long finger at her, "That would be telling now, wouldn't it? But happy endings are only for fairy stories," he added, his tone was dismissive now as he waved a hand, "Vastly overrated...and not very realistic, either, I find."

At this, Ella answered, "On the contrary, sir. I think that whatever hardship or heartbreak that he or she is forced to endure, there's always hope...and that it makes it all the more rewarding and worth it if there's a happier ending to be had."

Clopin merely shrugged. The teenaged girl spoke so fervently on the subject and with such an earnestness in her manner, that he felt it seemed almost churlish to disagree.

She hailed from abroad, that much he could tell; for although she spoke French well enough, it was a little too broken and disjointed to be her native tongue.

Beneath her shawl, she wore a simple sky-blue dress embroidered with a design of pink flowers. Her apparel was undoubtedly fine on her slender frame but she did not strike him to be of nobility - her rosy complexion was a little too weathered, as if she spent a lot of time out of doors. Perhaps, the daughter of some merchant or other. In any case, she looked as though she would be far more at home in the countryside...he could just imagine her wandering through a sunny meadow full of spring flowers somewhere.

The girl truly was a beauty, though in a quiet and understated way. Her large brown eyes were full of a benign warmth and softness...the sort one could lose themselves in forever. Light blonde tresses tumbled about her shoulders in loose waves, braided on either side with some blue butterfly-shaped pins which sparkled in the wintry sunlight.

Clopin quirked a slight smile at this, for somehow that was exactly what she reminded him of: a sweet and gentle butterfly.

"Allow me to introduce myself... Clopin Trouillefou, at your service," he said, bowing once more and offering her a charming smile, "Paris' finest teller of tales, singer of songs...and the best puppeteer this side of the river!"

"And modest too, I see," Ella lightly teased.

He let out a bark of laughter. His mischievous smile and boundless energy was so wonderfully infectious that Ella couldn't help but laugh delightedly with him.

He then asked, "And might I have the pleasure of knowing your name, mon papillon?"

Ella beamed at the sound of this new nickname he'd given her.

"It's Ella," she told him.

"Enchanté...and will you be attending the festival later on, Ella?"

"Oh, yes! I'm really looking forward to it!" she replied, her features lighting up enthusiastically, "Though I confess I have nothing to judge by as I've never been to one before," she admitted.

Clopin gave a dramatic gasp, "Never?"

He sounded most astonished by this, though Ella wasn't certain whether he was play-acting or not.

"Well, my father and I only arrived here in Paris yesterday," she explained, confirming the gypsy's hunch about her being from out of town.

"Oh, but then in that case, madam, you are in for a treat!"

"Will I see you there?" she asked with just a bit of hopefulness.

"Hmmm..." Clopin put on a mock thoughtful expression, stroking his goatee, "I may drop by and put in an appearance, yes..." the puppeteer said slowly, a sly glint in his eyes as he tilted his head to one side to look at her.

Ella reached into her basket to fish out her coin purse. She had already spent most of what money she carried at the marketplace that morning but still had some left over. She shook out a couple of gold coins, then after a moment's pause, drew out an additional one.

She held out the money towards him but he, however, did not move to take it. His expression was quite unreadable as he simply stared at the gold sovereigns in her palm she was offering.

Noticing his hesitation, Ella's face fell slightly, her brows furrowed with concern. Had she done something wrong? Had she displeased or embarrassed him in some way? That was not her intention at all.

"I'm sorry, monsieur, if I've offended you! It was kindly meant - " she began hastily but Clopin shook his head.

"I'm not offended," he assured her. The truth was he was unused to such behaviour and was genuinely taken aback by this display of kindness. "Forgive me, mademoiselle, I don't wish to seem ungrateful, it's just..." He gave a sigh, "...it's just that a fine lady like yourself usually would not bother to trouble herself to give money to one such as I."

"Why ever not?" Ella enquired.

Clopin frowned and his eyes suddenly seemed - if possible - to become even darker as they lost some of their humour and shine for a moment. It was like a storm cloud had passed over his features. Ella found it most disconcerting.

"Because I am nought but a mere gypsy, mademoiselle...an outcast," his tone dry if not a shade bitter now, in stark contrast to his light-hearted one a few moments ago, "It's just not done."

"Just because it isn't done, doesn't necessarily mean it shouldn't be," she responded promptly, "And besides...today is supposed to be a day to do exactly what isn't done...is that not so?" she pointed out, arching an eyebrow.

His gaze flickered up and down her slender figure appraisingly.

"Touché," he smirked, and Ella was relieved to see his expression lighten and the playful gleam return to his eyes.

She reached out to take hold of one of Clopin's gloved hands, placed the coins in the centre of his palm before closing his fingers securely around them, unwilling to accept 'no' for an answer.

"This other one's for your little friend," she insisted with a smile, nodding towards the puppet, whose small embroidered face was visible from out of Clopin's pocket, "I think he deserves compensation after being hit so hard by your stick. Or at the very least be able to buy himself a larger hat to better protect himself," she added with a small laugh.

She was like a breath of fresh spring air on this frosty winter's morn, Clopin thought to himself.

It was a rare thing indeed but for a moment or two, the King of the Gypsies was rendered speechless, touched by the young lady's generosity and pure heart. Very few willingly showed such kind consideration to his people. He carefully stowed the money away in a very threadbare and tatty-looking leather pouch.

Hit by a sudden stroke of inspiration, he pulled a blue flower from up his sleeve with a flourish and presented it to her.

"As a thank you...a beautiful flower for a beautiful lady!" said he.

Ella's eyes widened with surprised delight and was just about to take the flower and thank him, when he held up a finger to stop her...

"Ah, ah! Allow me..."

...and before she knew it, he was stood directly in front of her, up close and personal. A little too close for comfort...

Ella's breath stilled in her throat and her heartbeat ratcheted up a few notches. She had never been in such intimately close proximity to a man who wasn't her father. Clopin was taller than she by a head, and so near she could feel his breath tickle at her cheek. Though never once did she feel intimidated or in any way threatened. On the contrary, his movements were exceedingly gentle as he deftly tucked the delicate flower into her hair so that it was nestled behind her left ear.

Ella felt a pleasant little shiver involuntarily dance up and down her spine when his long fingers, however briefly, brushed against her jaw. Butterflies of a quite different sort fluttered in her chest.

Clopin's eyes found hers and smiled as he couldn't help but notice how even lovelier she was up close.

Once satisfied the flower was secure, he murmured, "There now...that improves its beauty immensely," in a much softer tone, quite different again from before.

"Thank you," she whispered, a blush creeping up her cheeks.

There was a few seconds where the pair simply looked at each other. Ella gazed up into the gypsy's face, losing herself in those beautiful eyes...black as a moonless night. Those inner butterflies flapped their wings ever faster because goodness, was he so devilishly handsome! She forgot that she was in a square crowded with people... it almost felt, if only for a few seconds, like they were the only two in the world who existed.

Ella lowered her gaze shyly.

"Perhaps..." she said slowly, "you could tell me the rest of the story about the bell ringer sometime?"

She glanced back up at him when, in answer, it was Clopin's turn to take up her hand in his gloved one. Without once taking those mesmerising eyes from hers, he placed the gentlest of kisses, soft as a butterfly's wing, on her knuckles. Her entire being tingled when she felt his goatee brush her fingers, his lips lingering on her hand far longer than what must be deemed appropriate.

"It would be my great pleasure...Ella," he quietly answered.

It was only a simple, fleeting gesture but the effect it had on her was powerful... From the moment his lips brushed against her skin, Ella felt a heat trickle down and pool in her stomach in the most peculiar fashion.

And it didn't stop there...

The heat flickered dangerously at her insides, consuming her very mind. Like fire... Unbidden, her head swam with thoughts, such scandalous thoughts. It filled her with the overwhelming desire to... Gosh, Ella was too embarrassed to even name it! All she knew it was the likes of which her innocent young mind had never entertained about a man before, let alone a stranger.

She almost gasped aloud when she felt a sudden great rush of warmth stir deep within her loins. What on earth was happening to her? The teenager had never experienced anything like it before. This was something entirely new to her, hitherto uncharted waters. It both excited her...and frightened her to death. It made her long to know how it would feel to have him touch and kiss other parts of her -

What? Goodness, where had that come from? The rational part of her mind shouted at her to stop this now, it was wrong... So why did it feel so right?

Heart pounding, Ella dropped her hand from his as if she had been burned by his touch...though she wasn't so sure that she had not.

"I-I should go, m-my father will be expecting me," she managed at last, her words tumbling out in a breathless rush.

As she backed up a step or two, Ella could have sworn she saw something in his shrewd expression like he'd had an inkling of what had been going on in her mind.

Clopin raised a brow, greatly intrigued by the sight of her flushed cheeks and quickening breaths. She was a curious creature, to be sure, he thought. Most respectable young ladies in this city did not sit too well with gypsies. They were generally regarded with suspicion and fear, and tended to be given a wide berth.

But not she... She did not look upon him as somebody who was to be feared or avoided. Not only had Ella taken the time to engage him in conversation, she'd even shown compassion enough to give him money. In fact, she now seemed rather reluctant to leave his company, despite what she had just said. If he was honest, Clopin was most sorry to see his sweet little butterfly fly away so soon as well.

Not wishing to appear rude, Ella turned to him and said, "I hope to see you again, Monsieur Clopin."

He flashed her another of his dazzling grins.

"If you're passing Notre Dame again, you may count on it, mon papillon."

Faster than blinking, before Ella could do or say anything more, he planted a swift kiss on her cheek. Then, in a whirl of purple and gold and jingling of bells, he darted away and...he was gone.

Ella let out a long, shaky breath, bemused and bewildered by what just occurred. It had all happened so quickly, she wondered if she had in fact dreamed her encounter with the gypsy. But she soon came to the conclusion, as she lightly touched the spot at the corner of her lips where he had kissed her, that she had not.

Perhaps there was some truth in what they said about gypsies enchanting you? There was something so alluring about those eyes which sparked with mischief and mystery, like they had her under some sort of spell. She had felt so strange... Perhaps she had indeed been bewitched.

Feeling somewhat dazed, Ella turned and began to make her way out of the square. She had been told that gypsies were supposedly thieves but the only thing which Clopin had stolen from her was a kiss. Ella reached up and felt for the flower in her hair, unable to stop the smile from tugging at her lips at the memory of his gentle hands. No...it seemed he had stolen much more than that...her heart. A little giggle bubbled up from inside her at the thought.

Heading back towards the direction of the inn, one wish filled Ella's mind: she very much hoped that wouldn't be the last she ever saw of the intriguing puppeteer. And if it wasn't... it looked as though she was going to be enjoying her visit to Paris in more ways than she could ever have imagined.

I've no idea if anyone is actually going to read this, let alone like it but I had great fun writing it nevertheless. It's been a long time since I've delved into Disney fanfics.. This was intended to be just a fun one-shot but I'm leaving it as 'incomplete' in case I decide to come back and add more.

TTFN,

Kitty x