A/N:
Disclaimer: Les Mis is not mine.
1. Jeremiah
He didn't belong there.
Even when he was a young boy, Jeremiah Javert knew this with absolute certainty. He hated the life he was forced to live—sleeping on the hard floor, eating whatever scraps he could, using only rags to clothe his back. He hated the people who lived in close quarters with him, ruffians and thieves and vagrants eager to grab one of his things once his back was turned. His job as a pack-carrier was slow, heavy work, one he was always desperate to escape.
He hated his father most of all.
His mother was looked down upon – she earned her keep as a fortune-teller – a better profession than a prostitute like some other people's mothers were, he always argued – but Jeremiah despised his father. He was a convict, duty-bound to work in the galleys to pull ships safely on land. If he hadn't gambled his fortune away, maybe he could have made an honest woman of Jeremiah's mother and raised the family in relative comfort. Maybe Jeremiah didn't have had to be born in a prison.
Instead, they would forever be tainted with the touch of criminality.
But no way in Hell was he going to let that stop him.
