The moonlight glinted off broken glass in the alley, and Inspector Javert was not back at his rooms yet. Only a few gamin were brave enough to scurry the streets at night, and Inspector Javert was not back at his rooms yet. He could feel himself changing, and Inspector Javert was not back at his rooms yet.
He could feel himself shrinking, slowly, and knew when his uniform slipped away over fluffy fur that had once been flesh, and onto the dirty alley floor below that he was doomed. Bending over and scooping up the uniform in his paw (Paws! How he hated them!), he shuffled in too-large boots deeper into the shadows, to wait out the night in his shame. Setting down the clothes as neatly as possible, Javert stiffly placed himself on the ground, his bi-corn still perched perfectly on his head, but now including his ears underneath. He sighed - his soft, fluffy, bear ears.
"'Allo, what's this!"
The teddy that was Javert froze, hoping to look as fake and dead as possible to the gamin who seemed to have appeared from nowhere. The gamin that had discovered his hiding place in a small crevice-like doorway, was a filthy little thing, with matted blond hair and tattered clothing - and even worse, one of those damn revolutionary badges was pinned to his lapel.
The gamin glanced to the left, noticing the uniform Javert had had no time to concea - thankfully he'd already removed the bootsl. "Must've been that dandy completing a job or somethin'." The child muttered, before pinching the hat with an odd look and placing it smartly on is own head. Javert hated children.
The brat leaned in close, his nose brushing briefly against the shiny black button that was Javert's, and smiled.
"Well, you're an odd lookin' thing. Never seen anything like you!* Still," Javert felt a thin hand squeeze at his fluffy arm, "you feel pretty nice. So what'cha for then?"
For the first time in his life, Javert felt the humiliation of being picked up by a street rat and examined all over. If he had blood (and he had checked), he would be red all over. Still, the Inspector stayed perfectly still in the child's sticky grasp.
"What's this? There's a tag on your bum!" Javert tried desperately not to yank away when the child pulled something just below his new tail, "I can't read much, but I've been taught a little. For … c-u-d-d … l, I think, and that's -ing. For kudeling! Ew, is that what Enjolras and Grantaire do, because I don't see how you could be for that. Or is that the other thing that mum's are supposed to do?"
When he was righted again, Javert was face to face with the child's joyful grin. He hated it when children grinned like that, he hated children in general. He didn't have to see it for much longer though, for the child had crushed him to his chest with a vice-like grip, and Javert felt physically ill.
When the child finally - finally, thank God - pulled away and tilted Javert up to face him, the grin had only widened.
"You're comin' home with me. I'm Gavroche, by the way. What'll I call you?"
Javert - now dubbed 'Fuzzles' - now hated children more than he hated angry gypsies with magical powers.
*Teddy Bears weren't invented until 1902, so yeah, Javert's the alpha bear