the cadence of part time poets

Chapter 66: Per Aspera Ad Astra

How can I try to explain?
When I do he turns away again,
It's always been the same, same old story;
From the moment I could talk,
I was ordered to listen;
Now there's a way,
And I know that I have to go away...

- "Father and Son" Cat Stevens, 1970

When Sirius called and asked for his help, Remus made the split-second decision that he would go to the ends of the earth to reach him. Luckily he only had to go as far as Dover.

The little port town was just over an hour from London, which meant he could leave and meet him before it even got dark. There was only one problem.

He had no way of getting there.

Sirius hadn't divulged much, but he did admit to swiping another passenger's ticket to get aboard the ferry across the Channel, unable to pay the ticket fee himself. Remus could tell he felt bad, but his current lack of funds meant that hopping a train into the city wasn't an option on his own. The attendants would catch him and since he wasn't legally an adult, he would be held until his parents came to retrieve him. Sirius didn't need to extrapolate further. Remus considered taking the line down himself with enough fare to pay both their ways back, but it'd twice as long, and something in Sirius' voice had made him exceedingly nervous—like if he didn't reach him as soon as possible, he'd never see him again.

It stung later, mostly when he was being shouted at, but he hadn't even stopped to consider asking Giles for help. It would take too long—would mean too many questions. Sirius needed him and he needed him now. Going from the phone, to his bedroom, to the car, had taken less time than it took for Giles to polish off his evening brandy. Remus didn't even remember swiping the keys off the parlour table—it was all a blur. The Roll's front seat felt a lot bigger without the old driver sitting in there with him, but he didn't hesitate to turn the car on and begin rolling it down the rocky driveway. Flashing his high beams so the gateman wouldn't recognise him, Remus did his best to look bulky under Giles' jacket and cap, which he'd stolen off one of the pegs by the kitchen door. He'd always maintained the opinion that he wasn't a thief, but for Sirius he'd be anything.

The nerves didn't really set in until he was driving down the M20 motorway, white-knuckling the steering wheel and trying not to drift out of his lane. As wildly anxious as he was for Sirius, he couldn't bring himself to drive any faster than the speed limit. Getting himself pulled over wasn't going to help Sirius anyway. Most cars just sped on past, not paying the Rolls any mind, and Remus was almost able to relax until a lorry triple his size ran up from behind and gave a honk so blaringly loud that he nearly launched himself into the sedan's roof.

What are you doing, a voice said, you don't even have a driving license!

Without room for reason, he pushed back; I ain't eighteen either but that didn't stop the bloke in the bar from serving Pete, James, and me those pints two weeks ago. 

A Ford raced past him in the next lane, so close they could've kissed mirrors and Remus struggled to not veer into the barrier.

You're gonna die, you stupid fucking idiot!

"Oh shut up," Remus grumbled, flicking on the radio.

The music helped some—soothed him at least—but even if he were a seasoned driver he still would've been distracted. Sirius' short phone conversation replayed over and over again in his head, becoming more terrifying with each iteration. Remus struggled to stay calm. Sirius wasn't dying, he just needed help, and now help was coming. He'd been calm too—tired-sounding, mostly—but still eerily calm.

"I'm in Dover," he'd said, after asking for his help.

"Dover?" Remus had exclaimed; "What the bloody fuck are you doing there?"