Don't touch me, I'm a real live wire
Tuesday, February 27 • Evening
The moon had transitioned into the first quarter, and now waxed fuller each night. With it, the remnants of the werewolf heart still swimming in Lupin's blood grew in power.
Or, at least, so Remus hoped.
It was possible, after all, that the memories floating through his head now at times — peering into windows, stalking a child, rending flesh, closing in on Rose, biting Bill, the night he himself was bitten — were pure invention, a melange of phantom smells and sights produced by a sick and ailing mind, and not the lingering legacy of Greyback.
Books indicated that the blackouts and ill temper that he could not control as well as before were a lingering symptom of the heart, which kept its power as a poison from one full moon to the next. He hoped that they were right.
He was tired of apologizing to Dobby and Sirius after they crossed his path, and tired of them discreetly avoiding him.
He was tired ... of everything, yet, which was a bit of a laugh as he hadn't done much over the past month but lurk about his rooms and read and sketch out houseplans. He'd lost about a stone of weight.
He'd found himself walking toward Hogwarts three times and didn't know if it was the wolf wanting to attack or the man wanting to go home, and so each time he came to his senses and turned back.
But he'd come up with a solution, one of the oldest in the book.
Each day now, Remus went into the forest and began the work involved in building a house. Clearing the space and excavating a cellar went much more quickly with a wand, but it still was wearying. Sheer physical exhaustion was a wonderful barrier against thinking about anything, or anyone, and if he kept it up perhaps the wolf would feel it as well when he changed.
Snow had started falling this evening, though, and so Remus returned to Glen Hollow earlier than usual — lights were still on in the main floor of the house.