Disclaimer: Hermione and Lupin belong to Miss Rowling, and not me. :)
“Cup of tea, Miss Granger? You’ve earned yourself a drink.”
Hermione lowered herself into the armchair and accepted a cup with thanks. Chamomile, thickened with clover honey, was mellow and sweet and calmed her into near-perfect serenity. These teatime conversations with Mr. Lupin were among her simplest pleasures.
“I cannot believe how much trouble the sautillé gave me last month.”
“You have it mastered now, though, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yes, I feel like I’m finally beginning to conquer it.”
Hermione spoke with great earnestness as she turned the matter over in her mind.
“It won’t bother me anymore because I have the key to get the better of it. Just like every other problem,” she added, with a frustrated gouge at the butter. She smiled a little ludicrously when she looked up and found him more amused than sympathetic.
“But you’ll always figure it out," said Lupin, laughingly. "Remember that, and don’t be bothered.”
“But I am bothered when I can’t get it right.”
Lupin stirred a stream of cream into his cup, smiling at her persistence. Hermione reminded him of a child, sometimes, in the way she took up ideas and adhered to them. She could be stubborn like a cat, seemingly immovable, and only the most credible coaxes could bring her round.
“Music isn’t all about rules, Hermione. It’s as personal and varied as any other art form. There are things that must be learned, of course, but really it’s about learning to make the instrument work for you. Trying for perfection has also to be about expressing yourself or else all the joy is sucked out of the pursuit of it. Don’t get trapped in technicalities.”
Hermione nodded and sipped her tea, unsure of what to say. Their philosophies corresponded for the most part, but despite his emphasis on emotional release, she couldn't completely discard her own conviction that you could only truly express yourself once you had the proficiency to do so without any handicap.
“I saw that you were highlighted in the Arts Bulletin this morning; you impressed a lot of people last night. I’m sorry I had to miss it.”
Hermione smiled, glowing at the compliment and in the reflective thrill of yesterday’s success. “The director of the Vienna State Opera was in the audience; he asked me after the show if I would kindly make an appearance there if I’m ever in the area.”
“Really? I’m so proud of you, Hermione!”
She fingered with the dripping honey twirler, nervous in her modesty. “It was very flattering of him to say."
“I should say,” he said, with enthusiasm enough to compensate for the understatement. “And are you going to oblige him or not?”
She sighed and sank deeper into the chair, thinking drowsily of the future and the bittersweet tidings she had to impart. The draft from the front window rippled the waves of her hair, comfortably cool against her face after her hot drink. There was a perpetual breeze in Lupin's workplace that was to Hermione like a current of ideas: Constantly moving, always fresh. In the winter, when the roaring furnaces were loaded with coal and the rising heat became near unbearable in the unventilated flat, he would throw open the window for a bit of relief. In the summer, when the splintery boards would swell in the humidity and the sun burned down against the rooftop, curtains were brushed aside and the glass lifted to let the sweet-smelling zephyr mingle with the stale air.
It was always that way with him, she reflected, quietly improvising, never complaining. She suspected a deeper story behind the cheerful long-suffering, wondered what cataclysm had forged his gentle strength. But she never invited confidences. Professionalism and politeness were ruling forces stronger than curiosity for her. Between them existed an unspoken understanding, for they were alike in their respect for the immaterial but indispensable laws of social relations; Lupin, indeed, upheld niceties that most in better circumstances had abandoned.
She looked back at him and began slowly, “One of my friends from Austria has invited me to Vienna for a stay. She’s renting a two-bedroom suite and we can economize by splitting expenses.”
“It is a great opportunity,” he said. “Vienna is a beautiful city for a young musician.”
“I’m seriously considering it; but I’m loath to leave here before...”
Hermione paused in thought; before what? With every week that passed, the more her excuses seemed contrived. Each day enfeebled her protestations, and she wasn't sure that her last excuse would impress upon her teacher.
“If it comes to that, Hermione, there is something I ought to tell you.”
Lupin set down his cup and saucer and she did the same; he regarded her over a spray of lupine blossoms in their chipped vase, and there was something in his eyes that told her that whatever he had to say was important. Involuntarily she held her breath, and heard only the faint pitter-patter of her heart in the silence.
“I don’t think there is anything more I can teach you.”
A strange emotion rose up inside of her; a jolt of excitement, an upsurge of pride - oh, unspeakable pride and happiness like a wave. Possibilities rose up to the skies and stretched across the horizon; doubts vanished and dreams were validated. With his expression of confidence she was empowered, felt free to take the world.
But there was a gall in her elixir in the form of self-doubt. Sometimes a tremor would quiver her heart, and she felt small and exposed in the spotlight, thrown out into the world as she was, lavished with gratuitous opportunity. She wanted desperately to prove herself but the idea of sailing forth without a compass was terrifying.
So much was believed of her that she could never believe herself.
“But Sir, I-- I still have so much to learn.”
“I believe that, here on out, you’re meant to learn on your own.” Lupin's voice was mild, his tone measured and calm.
“I don’t understand.”
“There’s a point in every education, I think, when the fundamentals are established and the mind becomes self-driven. A teacher can guide, but the progress is little due to their instruction. Your understanding is complete and you’ll be better served by venturing out and finding your own experience.”
It was like the moment when the musty red velvet curtains were first drawn and she faced her first audience, overwhelmed by the layered sea of faces, trembling before the collective stare of thousands, and burning with nervous anticipation. She never needed a hand to hold so intensely as when she was being handed off into the world.
Was it cowardly of her to quiver and want to take a step back, want to sequester herself for a moment longer until she was sure that she was ready? Everyone plays the role of debutant at some point in their duration, qualified or not, whether they have a plan or they have nothing. Hadn't she resolved to meet her moment with fortitude and with whatever confidence she could muster? Hadn't this man, sitting before her, done as much, with so much less?
“If you don’t mind my asking, Sir,” ventured Hermione, tentatively. “Where did you find your inspiration?” It was easier to deflect just then.
“I don’t know if I went looking for life experience as much as life handed it to me -”
“On a silver platter?”
“Something like that,” he said, with a nod. “Though perhaps I’d say something more alloyed than silver.”
Hermione grinned, understanding that this was all the answer she would get. A minute later, she added, “So is this my last lesson, Sir?”
“Not if you don’t want it to be; but what capable young girl wants to be stuffed away in an attic when Vienna awaits her?”
“When you put it that way it sounds like an obvious choice.”
“I think a good night’s thought will make it easy for you,” he said. “I am confident you’ll choose the proper course, whether it takes you East or has you stationary for a while.”
She knew not how to reply, for in truth she had all but chosen her path. But to say it out loud, to hear it ringing about the rafters, was a display of greater certainty than she felt. The spoken word was too definite, too irrevocable.
“Hermione?”
She looked up, and read the mute inquiry in his face. Still she said nothing. He waited politely for an answer, but when her silence persisted he gave a swift smile and took up his cup of tea.
“Will you write me a recommendation?” she asked, abruptly.
“My opinion counts little in the real world, you know.”
“But it does mean a great deal to me.”
And without further question he drew out a pen and a sheet of parchment stationery.
She watched him closely as he penned the recommendation, wondering if his written confidence could magically compensate for what confidence she lacked. And then she wondered if it was an issue of self-assurance at all, or if she was making excuses. A nature like hers always respected fact, and could not tolerate error for long - not even where it meant facing a more unpleasant reality.
His words made her so uneasy because she had to acknowledge their truth. Her tutelage was complete and she did not know how to say goodbye. A simple fare-thee-well seemed so empty if this was to be their last meeting.
What she wanted to tell him was that she respected him in spite of his condition. Cared more to be valued by him than showered with accolades and roses by the rest.
Even in her head the sound of the half-formed speech was unrealistic, sentimental. That she could never bring herself to say, even if it was the truth.
Lupin reached the end of the paper, signed his name with a flourish and, after a final review, closed the leaf in two folds. He smiled up at her as he handed her the parchment, saying in his light way that he hoped it did her some good. She thanked him for it and wished he could know how deeply she meant it. Some feelings were meant to live unvoiced; and it was hard enough now trying to muster the resolution to say the least emotional thing.
Then she told him she was leaving.
The Violin Teacher by stardust
Chapter Notes: I want to thank everyone who's left me a review. Each one helps me to improve and I appreciate all of you. :)
I have one last chapter planned but it's probably advisable that I warn of a delay. I'll try not to dawdle but I can't make any promises for the next fortnight. :)