The Story Of Javert

Prologue - Part I

The shop was happy and welcoming. The heavenly smell of fresh bread and pastries was enticing and made her stomach grumble. The customers were laughing and the baker was smiling as he served them. It was the perfect scene and she didn't want to do what she was about to do.

She stumbled as her associate, a young boy of no more than twelve, shoved her roughly.

"Hey, are ya ready or not? Look alive, or the master will beat us both!" he hissed from the corner of his mouth. She nodded meekly and went to stand near the stalls of fresh bread. He positioned himself in the middle of the shop, then tripped and fell over with a loud exaggerated thud.

"Someone, please help me! I'm hurt!" he wailed pathetically. Everyone, including the baker, immediately rushed over to his aid, leaving her alone with the freshly baked produce.

Her nimble fingers swiped the warm loaf of bread. All the customers were too busy helping the boy to notice a small teenage girl tucking the loaf underneath her shawl and walking briskly out of the shop. Smiling gleefully, she broke into a run and seeked refuge in a quiet alley. Her master would be proud. He wouldn't beat her today. He would give her a few much-needed francs for her success.

But her joy was short-lived as a firm hand gripped her thin arm. She froze, trying not to gasp in fear. A tall, muscular-looking bourgeoisie man stood before her. He was dressed warmly for the cold weather in a long black coat and sturdy boots, unlike her in a ripped and muddy dress, running around barefooted.

"Care to tell me what you've got there?"

The voice was deep and menacing. It made her feel afraid and unsafe. But she fought to stay calm and turned to face the man.

"Nothing at all, Monsieur." she replied as innocently and politely as she could. "Now, I'm terribly sorry, but there's somewhere else I must be - "

"Are you sure about that?"

With a flick of his wrist, the man pulled the shawl from her shoulders, revealing the stolen bread in her trembling arms. She gasped and the man smirked. Only a miracle could save her now.

"Just as I thought - "

"Excuse me, Monsieur."

She looked up at the new but familiar voice. Her master was standing behind the man, drawn up at full height but still shorter than the bourgeoisie. Nevertheless, he looked just as menacing.

"Let her go. My friend here... she's a bit sick in the head. I'll go back and pay for the bread." he firmly said. The bourgeoisie didn't flinch.

"I'll give you 20 francs for your silence."

"Fine."

Her master fished into his pocket and pulled out a few coins.

"Thank you for your cooperation, Monsieur." her master smiled grimly, pressing the money into the bourgeoisie's gloved hand.

The man sneered, looking down at his palm, at the money. He strode away, muttering something about peasants.

"Well, my dear," her master snarled sarcastically, turning his attention to her. "You're lucky I arrived just in time."

"I'm so sorry, Monsieur. Please, forgive me. Please be merciful, I know I've failed you." she pleaded helplessly. Her head was down towards the ground, allowing her ebony black hair to fall from her shoulders. She knew it was no use. He would still beat her anyway.

But calloused fingers lifted her chin up. Her master laid a hand on her cheek and brushed her hair out of her face with the other. She shuddered under his touch, feeling violated.

"There is something you could do for me."

She was doomed; she knew exactly what was going to happen.

"And what is that?" she asked as innocently as she could.

"You know very well what I mean."

He dragged her further into the alley and slammed her against the cold brick wall. She opened her mouth to scream, but he silenced her before she could, harshly pressing his cracked lips against hers. She gasped and fought to push him off; the only thing on her mind was to escape.

But he was too strong for her. A scream rang from her lips as he slapped her cheek and pulled her hair. Her head throbbed and she felt her body go limp, too exhausted to continue defending herself. Tears ran down her cheeks as he lifted her skirt up.

Soon, it was done. He was finished with her. Although it couldn't have been more than only a few minutes, it felt like a hellish eternity for her. Her eyes fluttered closed as she glimpsed his shadow leaving the alley.

A/N: In honour of Barricade Day, I'm back with a new story (maybe)! I know it's not obvious but the girl in this chapter is Javert's mother, and the prologue is going to explain how Javert was conceived. Now I know that originally, his mother was a fortune teller or something but for this story, I'm changing some parts. Also I don't have many ideas for this story yet so updates will probably be slow, sorry. Hope you enjoyed :) x