A/N: Hey, guys! So...uh...I know it's technically AFTER Christmas, but I sorta got stuck on this a few days back, and then I didn't have as much writing time as I thought I would (I spent like FIVE HOURS wrapping presents on Christmas Eve...well, maybe that's a bit of an exaggeration, but...not TOO much of one, I think...). I also posted this on Abaissé yesterday, but, upon trying to post it here, I discovered that my stupid computer wouldn't let me onto the site!

Anywho...I admit that some suspension of disbelief is required for this, but I'm hoping it's not enough to spoil the experience. I also want to apologize to Dr. Seuss for appropriating his fantastically fun story/poem and using it for my own purposes.

That's right, folks! I HAVE, in fact, succeeded in writing Javert in a Santa Claus suit! I am now happy to present to you...

"How Javert Stole Christmiz" - an unashamedly silly parody of "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" by the fantabulous Dr. Seuss!

Disclaimer:

Well, I don't own the Grinch or Valjean or Javert,
And I don't own Gavroche or Cosette (or Combeferre,
Though he's not in this fanfic, so that doesn't matter…
But now I should stop with this idle chit-chatter).
In any case, all of these things I disclaim,
So, if you should sue me, I'll give you the blame.

How Javert Stole Christmiz

All the people in France liked Monsieur Jean Valjean,
But Inspector Javert knew that he was a con.

Javert hated him, though Valjean had repented.
Don't ask Javert why, for his logic's demented.
The real cause could be that his brain had a glitch,
Or maybe his thick sideburns gave him an itch.
But I think that the most likely reason of all
May have been that his heart was two sizes too small.

But,
Whatever the reason,
His heart or his hair,
He stood, his face set in a resolute stare,
On a cold Christmas Eve, looking up at the stars
As he pondered on putting Valjean behind bars
For breaking parole and evading police.
Until he was captured, the hunt would not cease.

"And he talks about mercy!" he snarled with a sneer.
"It's justice that needs to be satisfied, here."
Then he growled, with a look that was really quite grim,
"I MUST find a way to incarcerate him!"*

For, tomorrow, he'd wake, to the clock's early chimes,
With Valjean on his mind, as he'd done many times.
That man and his crimes! Oh, his crimes, crimes, crimes, crimes!
That's one thing he hated! Those CRIMES! CRIMES! CRIMES! CRIMES!

And, while he was reflecting, his temper in shreds,
Valjean would be sleeping, all snug in his bed.
Then Javert would end up with an ache in his head,
While Valjean, he supposed, stole his holiday bread.

And what happened then, Javert liked not at all!
Every beggar in Paris, the tall and the small
Would crowd 'round Valjean, with their hands all aquiver.
They'd ask him for coin! And the con would deliver!

They'd plead! And they'd plead!
And they'd PLEAD! PLEAD! PLEAD! PLEAD!
And the more Javert saw Valjean's seeming 'good deed',
The more Javert thought, "This is meant to mislead!
Why, for twenty-five years I've put up with it now!
I MUST catch this dangerous convict!
…But HOW?"

Then he got an idea!
An awful idea!
JAVERT
GOT A WONDERFUL, AWFUL IDEA!

"I know just what to do!" Javert laughed in his throat,
And he made a quick Santy Claus hat and a coat.
And he chuckled, and clucked, "What a great, cunning trick!
With this coat and this hat, I'll look just like Saint Nick!

"Now, to find the sly convict…"
Javert looked around.
But the criminal's house was nowhere to be found.
Did that stop old Javert…?
No! The man simply said,
"This gamin surely knows! I'll make him pull my sled."
So he grabbed young Gavroche. Then he took some red thread
And he tied a big horn on the top of his head.

THEN
He loaded some ropes
On a cart, and he smiled,
"Lead me on to Valjean,"
As he hitched up the child.

Then he added, "Giddyap!"
And the cart rolled away
Towards the home where Valjean
And his little girl lay.

All the windows were dark. Quiet snow filled the air.
And the convict was dreaming sweet dreams without care
When Javert reached the devious criminal's lair.
"'Ey, monsieur! That's our stop!" was the whisper he heard,
So he climbed to the roof without saying a word.

Then he slid down the chimney—a trying affair,
But if Santa could do it, then so could Javert.
He got stuck only once, for a moment or two.
Then he stuck his head out of the fireplace flue
Where two little red stockings were hung side by side,
And he searched them for clues, but found nothing inside.

Then he slithered and slunk 'round the room for a time
As he hunted for evidence, traces of crime:
Maybe a safe full of ill-gotten gains,
Unlawful weapons, or human remains.
But although he looked into each cranny and nook,
Javert found no proof that Valjean was a crook.

So he slunk to the kitchen to look there, instead,
For signs that the convict had pilfered some bread.
He went through that kitchen with painstaking care,
But failed to find even a tiny clue there.

"All right! I surrender!" he finally hissed.
"But NOW! The thief's capture is next on my list!"

And Javert gagged Valjean, who woke up with a start,
And he tied him, and dragged him away towards his cart,
But turned around fast, as he heard a small noise,
And the girl he saw there almost shattered his poise!

Javert had been caught by Valjean's little daughter
Who'd got out of bed for a cup of cold water.
She stared at Javert and said, "Santy Claus, why,
Why are you taking my daddy, sir? WHY?"

But, you know, that Javert was so smart and so slick,
He thought up a lie, and he thought it up quick!
"He's just testing my ropes," the fake Santy Claus lied.
"I'm afraid they will break, which is why he is tied.
There are more cords to test in my workshop, my dear,
So he'll help me up there. Then I'll bring him back here."

And his fib fooled the child. Then he patted her head
And he got her a drink and he sent her to bed.
And when little Cosette went to bed with her cup,
HE went to the chimney and shoved Valjean up.

Then he made a quick search
In the ash from their fire.
Then he went up the chimney himself, the old liar,
Having found not a thing but some small bits of wire.

And the one scrap of bread
That was swiped in the house
Was a miniscule crumb that was filched by a mouse.

Then
He searched all around,
Near the neighboring houses,
Finding not even crumbs
Snatched by next door's small mouses!

It was quarter past dawn
With Cosette still abed
And the maid still a-snooze
When he packed up his sled,
Packed it up with Valjean, gagged and snug in his bindings,
And the wire-bits that made up his sole other findings.

"Now, off we will go, to the cops at the station,"
He said, without even a small hesitation.
"And now, I know how those poor beggars are feeling!
They're figuring out that Valjean has been stealing!
They're just waking up! I know just what they'll do!
Their mouths will hang open a minute or two,
Then the beggars in Paris will all cry BOO-HOO!

"And that proof could be final,"
He said with a sneer.
So he paused. And Javert put a hand to his ear.
And he did hear a sound rising over the snow.
It started in low. Then it started to grow…

But the sound wasn't sad!
Why, this sound sounded merry!
It couldn't be so!
But it WAS merry! Very!

He stared down at Paris!
Javert popped his eyes!
Then he shook!
What he saw was a shocking surprise!

All the beggars in Paris, the young and the old,
Were smiling, each one with a coin in their hold!
Valjean HADN'T stolen things!
QUITE THE REVERSE!
Somehow, he'd still fattened each beggar's purse!

And Javert, with his feet icy-cold in the snow,
Stood puzzling and puzzling: How could it be so?
Valjean was a convict, corrupt to the end!
So why had he striven so hard to pretend?
And he puzzled three hours, till his puzzler was sore.
Then Javert thought of something he hadn't before.
"Maybe convicts," he thought, "really can be reformed!
Could it be that Valjean has been truly transformed?"

And what happened then…?
Well…in Paris they say
That Javert's tiny heart
Grew three sizes that day!
And the minute his heart didn't feel so constricted,
He promised Valjean he would not be convicted.
They returned for a feast with the beggars, instead,
And he—
HE, JAVERT—
Doled out holiday bread!

A/N:

I hope you enjoyed my fun Christmas-y farce,
And I hope you don't think that the humor was sparse.
Please drop a review in my inbox to tell
If you thought this was awful, or if I did well!

(Oh, yes, and please note that usage of words/phrases such as "Santy Claus" and "mouses" are intentional-I was following the original as much as possible, and those are "Seuss-isms" :D So no reviews correcting those things, all right?)