Yeah, I know. Kat is writing Harry Potter fic! The muses decided that Remus needed some sneaky screen time.
And this one'll take a bit of explanation. Round the time Sherlock Holmes was solving murders and mysteries in England, there was a thief in France that was merrily causing headaches for the police. He was a gentleman thief, a master of disguise (to the point no one knew what he really looked like) and had a soft spot for women. He would also solve the odd mystery and help pack the really dangerous criminals off to jail. He and Holmes were said to have met several times, but, unlike Professor Moriarty, the thief had no interest in hurting Holmes. He just enjoyed the challenge, and if they hadn't been on opposite sides of the law, they probably would have been great friends. The thief's name was ... Arsène Lupin. The muses decided this wasn't a coincidence.
Disclaimer: No one is mine. The Harry Potter stuff belongs to JK Rowling. Arsène Lupin was created by Maurice LeBlanc. I just stole him.
Fiddly Pieces of Metal
"ACHOO!" James and Sirius lept away from the compartment door as a stream of smoke and feathers flew out.
"Allergies," Remus explained, rolling his eyes. "It seems to happen when he travels."
"Since when?"
Peter began searching his pockets futilely for his handkerchief, sniffing sporadically to keep his nose from escaping. "Since Xerxes Sorgul started taking pointers from Avery and Nott."
"Here, Peter, use mine." Remus stuck his hand in a pocket and pulled out a plain white handkerchief to pass to the other boy. A slim piece of weathered canvas tied with a bit of string followed the handkerchief out and tumbled to the compartment floor with a flop.
Remus reached down to retrieve it, but Sirius scooped it up first. James leaned over to see as Sirius turned the case over in his hands and picked at the knots holding it closed. It was slightly shabby, as most of Remus' things were, but well-cared for, and the knots were tied firmly and intricately. It looked so unassuming it was suspicious. "What's this, Remus?"
Remus reached across, plucked the case out of Sirius' fingers and tucked it back into his pocket. "A gift from my grandfather."
"A gift, huh? And you don't want us to see them? I think Moony is hiding something from the rest of us," James intoned seriously, while the mischievous glint in his eyes betrayed him. "So, what are they?"
Remus rolled his eyes in exasperation at the lot of them. "They're lockpicks."
"Why would anyone want to pick at a lock?" Sirius frowned in confusion.
"It's not pick at a lock, Padfoot, it's pick a lock," Remus corrected. "You pick a lock if you want to open it without a key."
Sirius snorted. "Why bother? The charm to open a lock's so easy Peter can do it." Peter clearly did not find this observation flattering, and an affronted glare crossed his face for a split moment.
"Muggles don't have magic, do they?" Remus reached back into his pocket and extracted the case of lockpicks. His long fingers deftly pulled the knots loose and he unfolded the canvas to reveal an array of oddly-shaped metal sticks that could almost resemble keys if you turned them sideways and squinted just right.
"So Muggles lock things up with keys, and then carry metal sticks around so they don't have to use their keys?" James concluded dubiously. He clearly thought Muggles were mad. "Why do they even bother with keys or locks in the first place?"
"Ah..." Remus rubbed his nose, looking slightly embarrassed. "Most Muggles don't have lockpicks. If they lose the key, they generally call for a locksmith."
"And the locksmith has the lockpicks?" Peter asked, poking curiously at the metal strips held in Remus' hand. "Is your grandfather a locksmith, Moony?"
Remus smiled wryly at this. "No. Well ... no. He's not a locksmith. He's a sort of Muggle performer; an escape artist. Sometimes he needs to open things without the proper keys when he performs and magic would be cheating, wouldn't it. The Ministry wouldn't allow anyway. It just has to look like magic to the Muggles."
Sirius snorted. "Muggles will believe anything."
Remus tucked his grandfather's gift securely back into his pocket as James produced a deck of Exploding Snap. His friends' unspoken opinions were right: first-year charms worked faster and better than fiddly bits of metal. But Remus had fond memories of his grandfather wrapped up with the canvas.
He could remember his grandfather's elegantly long-fingered hands guiding him through the motions of opening a stubborn lock. Most of all, Remus could remember stories of old exploits that his grandfather had woven as he watched his grandson practice. The stories were as odd and exciting as the strange things Arsène brought home for Remus from his travels: full of stolen jewels, mysteries solved, and daring prison escapes. The lockpicks weren't only fiddly pieces of metal. They were good memories.