Alvin stepped out of Quality Quidditch Supplies with a soft whistle, wrapping up the small tin of broomstick polish and shoving it deep into the pocket of his jeans. It wasn't like his nimbus needed anymore polishing, it already gleamed unnaturally, but Alvin was obsessive about his broomstick care routine and seemed to get through a tin of polish every couple of months. At least if his beating skills slipped he could blind his opponents. Running a hand through his mid-brown hair, he paused for a second, looking up and down Diagon Alley and wondering if there was anywhere else he needed to go. He already had the latest copies of all the Quidditch mags and although he was always up for a handful of sweets, he couldn't justify spending his money there... and the sweet shop was always more alert to shoplifters at the start of the summer holidays. Last thing he needed was to land himself in trouble before he even got a chance to work for the Falcons for the summer. Just some lunch then... and there was a sausage and pie stand at the end of the alley that did the best steak and ale pies... so really there was no contest.
Turning in that direction, he walked a few steps forwards before a shrill squeaking and some laughter caught his attention. Curious, he turned towards a tiny side alley that ran between two shops. It wasn't even wide enough for two people to walk side by side. He paused for a second and just when he was about to put the sound down to an over-active imagination, he heard it again. Curiosity got the better of him and slowly, he started sneaking down the alley, eyes gradually adjusting to the dim light caused by the tall buildings either side. Habitually, his fists curled and senses trained on his surroundings. Even though his paranoia had largely settled these days, he was still often half-expecting to get jumped at any moment. Maybe he'd walk in on some drug deal or a couple going at it, neither of which would endear him to those he happened across.
But as he rounded the corner, it wasn't an amorous couple or shifty dealings he came across, but rather a couple of young boys, with their backs to Vin, poking something small, pink and fluffy with a stick. Vin's eyebrows raised as he watched for a moment. The pink ball of fluff squeaked. Or rather, it whined. It was a squeak of pain and fear and frustration and Vin could immediately see that the reason it wasn't running away was because a rat-trap seemed to be snapped over the thing's hind leg.
Strangely enough, Alvin's immediate response to the situation was guilt. He'd done things like this when he'd been younger. Stray kittens back in the neighbourhood before his years at Hogwarts... squirrels and rabbits on the school's grounds. It was something he'd grown out of, but at the time it had made him feel powerful and given him an out for the built-up rage and frustration which had often threatened to overpower him. And now, he briefly saw himself as one of these boys, sharp stick in hand and face contorted with malicious glee as he poked and prodded and squashed this tiny ball of fear that had no way of fighting back or escaping. It was... evil. It was evil.
"the fuck you think you're doin'?" he finally said, his voice harsh and echoing off of the alley's walls, far more anger behind it than he'd expected. The boys' heads snapped round, eyes wide and then widening further as they saw Alvin standing there. His formidable figure practically filled the space of the alley, tshirt making his muscular arms obvious. The dim light of the alley cast shadows across his face, eyes deep pits of black and mouth curled in a snarl of disgust. If he hadn't been so focused on the tiny creature's wellbeing, he would have found the boys' reactions hilarious. They practically wet themselves right there, staggering back with hands raised and then turning tail and running.
Vin didn't give chase, but he crouched to pick up a stone and hurled it after them, clipping one of them in the back before they were out of sight. "Fucking brats," he muttered, still trying to shake his own sense of guilt as he crouched down to pick up the trembling ball of fluff. It had curled in on itself, its snout buried beneath the stupidly-pink fur. "Seriously," he muttered, "who invents a creature and gives it no self-defense and no fucking camoflage?" He loved a Weasleys Wizard Wheezes product as much as the next prankster, but they had a lot to answer for when it came to the pygmy puffs.
"There there," Vin soothed, his voice switching into the soft and comforting murmur that he used with Bludger, his owl. "It's ok... I'm here to help." Carefully he eased the trap open, holding the little creature gently but firmly as it tried to wriggle out of his grip. The leg looked broken. Vin held the pygmy puff up to examine it closer, his other hand lightly stroking over the impossibly soft fur. Slowly, the trembling was stopping. Slowly, the creature was uncurling itself, snout seeming to regard Alvin with suspicion. "Guess we'll have to get you to a vet," Vin said finally, standing up once more, the pygmy puff cupped in his hands. "You belong to someone, huh? Guess there ain't no way of finding your owner. Unless there's some magical alternative to a microchip." He regarded the pygmy puff thoughtfully. "Probably not."
