A/N: I hate myself. No one speak to me for at least a week. Carry on.

February, 1982

"Moony!"

Remus quickly slams the crate closed, hearing a muffled, "Oi!" shouted back at him in irritation. Remus' hands clench around the edges of the wood as he closes his eyes. How could he have ever forgotten what was packed away inside?

It had taken four months of misery for Remus to finally pull together enough nerve and fortitude to rifle through all his and Sirius' shared belongings. Remus had set out with the stubborn intention of throwing everything that wasn't useful into the rubbish bin, wanting desperately to be rid of all the reminders of the life he'd lived prior to that horrible night in October. Yet, after two days, the task had been proving far more difficult than Remus had ever thought possible.

Sirius, forever a packrat, had kept everything; every note passed during a boring class, every blurred moving photograph they'd ever taken with their friends, every book, every prank idea. Every item Remus' hands had landed on in the past two days had brought with it so much pain that it had almost crippled Remus all over again.

For all of Sirius' hoarding, there had been one object that Remus had always held onto, packed away, out of sight. As the war had drawn to a fierce head and everything had begun to fall apart, somehow Remus had forgotten about it. He feels he should regret saving it now, but he can't bring himself to, even after everything.

Steadying himself now, inhaling a deep breath, his hands shaking, he slowly reopens the crate. Annoyed grey eyes meet Remus' gaze in the shadowed darkness of the crate and Remus feels all the air leave his lungs in a sudden burst.

"Finally," says Portrait Sirius tetchily. "What was all that…?"

The painting trails off, its eyes narrowing as Sirius peers at Remus. The werewolf watches him through slightly blurred vision. Portrait Sirius is still perfectly preserved as the sixteen-year-old Sirius that Remus had known so well. His eyesight blurs more as Remus realizes that maybe he hadn't known him as well as he'd once thought.

"Blimey, Lupin," mutters Sirius. "What happened to you? What are you now, forty?" His painted lips quirk up slightly to show that he's teasing.

Remus stares at the portrait, saying nothing, something thick welling up in his throat and threatening to strangle him. Why had he opened the crate?

Seeing the look on Remus' face, Sirius raises his hands inside the frame. "I'm only joking, Moony," he says gently. "Just…last time I saw you, you were what? Eighteen?"

Remus swallows against whatever's caught in his throat. "Twenty-one," he mumbles, just loud enough to be heard.

Sirius raises his eyebrows in surprise before narrowing his eyes. He leans forward in the portrait as though trying to look closer at Remus.

"What happened, Remus?" Sirius' voice is soft and almost comforting. Remus can barely stand it.

He jerks away from the portrait, pushing himself back across the dusty floor, away from those studious grey eyes. Remus looks at the opposite wall; he has to, because he can't stand to look at that face now, so full of love and concern. It causes bile to rise in his throat as the memories threaten to swallow him whole. Images of the collapsed and smoldering cottage in Godric's Hollow flash behind his eyes and he grits his teeth against the insufferable heartbreak.

"You ruined everything," mumbles Remus harshly, glancing back at the portrait. Sirius is staring at him with wide eyes. "You did something horrible."

"Worse than the Willow?" asks Sirius, his eyes shifting down to his shoes in shame.

"Yes."

Sirius takes a moment to process this before raising his eyes and looking at Remus with wary determination. "Tell me," he demands.

"You killed Muggles. You killed Peter."

Remus wants to look away from the portrait and those outrageously shocked grey eyes, but he finds that he can't. Some baser level of Remus seems to enjoy seeing this version of Sirius realizing what he's capable of; what Remus should have always known he was capable of becoming.

Sirius is shaking his head, but Remus continues. "You told Voldemort where James and Lily were," whispers Remus, his breath hitching painfully. "You gave them up, betrayed them. They're dead. They're all dead, and it's your fault."

Sirius is shaking his head with more force now. "No," protests Sirius vehemently. "I didn't. I would never."

"You did," hisses Remus, his hands shaking again.

"I…I don't know how that's possible," mutters Sirius, his troubled eyes shifting around his portrait, lost and confused.

Remus pulls his legs up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them and burying his face in his knees as the tears fall. "You did," he whispers, dissolving into sobs that echo through the quiet room.

August, 1993

"Moony?"

Remus is cautious as he opens the crate, not exactly sure of the emotions that will settle on him when he sees the face inside. When the grey eyes light up upon seeing him, Remus struggles for a moment, his heart skipping and his breathing faltering. The familiar feelings of loss and grief hit him like old friends, and Remus has to close his eyes against their pressing weight.

"Moony," says Sirius softly. Remus opens his eyes again and sees Sirius studying his tired face. "How long's it been? What are you now, fifty-five?"

Remus can't help a sad smile pulling at his lips. "Thirty-three," he answers, Sirius' eyebrows raising when he hears.

Sirius' eyes shift over Remus for a long time before he says quietly, "Twelve years."

He kicks the toe of his shoe across the carpet of his portrait as he stuffs his hands in his pockets, shoulders slouching in a very Sirius stance that Remus has almost forgotten. A forced grin forms on Sirius' face.

"Good thing I'm a portrait," he quips. "I'd go mad, otherwise, locked up all that time."

Remus' face drops at the words and he stares at Sirius darkly. Sirius notices, his brow furrowing in puzzlement.

"What's happened, Moony?"

Remus shuffles back from his kneeling position, settling down to sit on the floor. He pulls one leg up to his chest, resting his chin on his knee.

"You've escaped," he murmurs.

Sirius looks even more perplexed. "Escaped?" he asks in confusion. "Escaped from where?"

Remus stares at him pointedly, but says nothing. After a short moment, Sirius' eyes widen.

"Oh," he mumbles. "How did I manage that?"

Remus still doesn't reply, turning his head away from the portrait. From the corner of his eye, Remus sees Sirius brow furrow deeply in bemusement.

"You never told anyone I was an Animagus," whispers Sirius in surprise. "Why, Remus?"

Remus shakes his head in shame. "I honestly don't know," he replies, exhaustion clear in his voice.

Sirius is quiet for a long time, his grey eyes watching Remus curiously.

"Will you now?" he finally asks quietly.

Remus huffs, but says nothing in answer. He turns back to see Sirius fidgeting in his portrait, his grey gaze still shifting over Remus' form in front of him. If Remus were to close his eyes now, he thinks he could transport himself back to his last years at Hogwarts, sitting in classes or the common room or the library, feeling those same grey eyes watching him, fire building in his belly and tingles racing down his spine. Remus finds himself reminiscing back to those days a lot now, no matter how hard he tries to keep his mind away from those thoughts.

"Dumbledore's asked me to come to Hogwarts to teach Defense," says Remus when the quiet has stretched on for too long.

Remus hates the silence. That's all his life is now, massively long quiet periods, punctuated too irregularly with flitting conversations. It makes him feel less human than he ever did before.

"You're bloody brilliant at Defense," remarks Sirius, his eyes lighting up at the news. "Always said you'd make a good professor, didn't I?"

"Dumbledore wants me there to help protect Harry," mutters Remus.

"Harry?" questions Sirius curiously.

Remus' gaze shifts back to the portrait, fire blazing in his eyes. "James' and Lily's son."

Sirius' face lifts happily at the words, wonder in his eyes, before something seems to occur to him and his expression crumples. "Oh," he murmurs desolately.

"You're his godfather," says Remus levelly, trying to push down the anger and hurt he can feel boiling under his skin.

Sirius looks at Remus mournfully. "Doesn't sound like I deserve that," he mutters dejectedly.

"You don't," snaps Remus and Sirius winces, flinching back into the frame. "You didn't deserve any of us. You never deserved the loyalty James showed you. You're a coward and liar and a fraud and you destroyed me."

Remus is crying now, tears falling freely. He can't stop them. He doesn't even have the strength to try anymore. He doesn't have the strength for anything anymore. Harry is the only thing that keeps him going, but he isn't even sure why. Remus doesn't know what he can ever do for the boy. He hasn't been able to do anything for him since his parents died. Harry doesn't even know that Remus exists.

Sirius is watching him helplessly. His hands keep raising as though he wants to reach out and touch Remus, but he drops them, knowing that he can't. He probably knows that even if he could, Remus wouldn't allow it. Remus is nothing but a ball of rage and hurt and grief. He can't control it anymore; has to let it out. Sirius stares at him as he does.

When Remus finally calms enough that his sobs are silent, Sirius whispers, "Why do you keep pulling me out, Remus?"

Remus looks up at him from his tear-stained face. "Because I miss you," he whispers back. "And because I love you too much to forget you."

July, 1995

"Moony."

"Cor, Moony! You kept it all this time? Why?"

Remus shrugs as Portrait Sirius blinks at the faint light as the crate is pried open. "Couldn't bear to part with it," he murmurs.

Sirius barks a laugh as he turns to look at the portrait that Remus is lifting out. Portrait Sirius looks affronted at the sight before him.

"What the bloody hell happened to you?" the portrait says in shock, staring at Sirius. "You look like you're seventy years old."

"Oi!" protests Sirius, glaring at himself. "Watch yourself. I can still throw your arse into the fire. You try spending twelve years in Azkaban and another on the run and see how well your looks fare."

Portrait Sirius smirks at the real Sirius before his eyes shift to Remus, his expression fading to confusion.

"What's he doing here, Moony?" asks Portrait Sirius in puzzlement. "I thought I – he –"

Remus shakes his head at the portrait, turning to look at Sirius when he hears the man snort in amusement, barely hearing the small sigh of relief the portrait releases.

"You've been talking to it," he says, meeting Remus' eyes, his haggard face pulling up into a smile, but his grey gaze meeting Remus' in worry.

Remus glances away, back at the portrait. "Couldn't be helped sometimes," he whispers.

"Remus," says Sirius, reaching out to press his hand against Remus' back, "I'm here. I'm not leaving again, Moony. Not if I can help it."

Remus inhales a trembling breath. Before he can stop himself, he launches himself across the small space, throwing his arms around Sirius. The other man grunts in surprise, but releases a burst of laughter against Remus' neck, his arms winding around Remus' back in a tight hold.

"It's all right, Moony," murmurs Sirius into Remus' skin as Remus shakes in his arms. "I won't leave you again, I promise."

It's silent for a long time, the two men holding one another and trying not to think about the past fourteen years. Eventually, Portrait Sirius' voice breaks through the quiet.

"You know," he mutters, "while this is all very touching, it seems to have escaped both of your notices that I'm still alone in this bloody portrait. Where's my Moony?"

June, 1996

"Moony!"

The crate opens and grey eyes meet Remus' brightly. Portrait Sirius grins at him, his gaze sweeping over Remus.

"Blimey, you never cease to amaze me," he quips. "Are you ninety now?"

Remus stares down at the portrait with heartbroken eyes. He feels as though he's being held together with nothing more than tape and painful pulling plasters that are slowly ripping off his skin. Sirius looks up at him and seems to notice the ragged expression on his face.

"Oh, Moony," he whispers. "What is it? What's happened now?"

Remus' legs give out beneath him, and he collapses to his knees. He leans forward, pressing his head against the startled portrait. Remus falls apart.

"You've left me," he whispers brokenly. "You're gone."

Remus cries to the portrait of the man he'll never see again.