The Muggle Cinnamon

Chapter Two: An Armrest

Ron opened his eyes to see the inside of a greenish lounge. He hadn't remembered there being quite so much sea green, from sofas to wallpaper to rugs, and was slightly worried that he'd forgotten the location and ended up in the wrong house until he heard a familiar voice.

"My parents redecorated a bit this spring."

Ron spun to face Hermione in the doorway. She looked summery in a pale purple, short-sleeved top and a denim skirt that skimmed her knees. Her bushy hair was held back with silver clips on each side so it didn't overtake her face so much.

"Hi," she said simply, walking across the room until she was some five feet away from him.

A memory of Hermione throwing her arms around Harry's neck when she first saw him at Grimmauld Place surfaced in Ron's mind, and a part of him was bothered by the fact that she'd never hugged him when she hadn't seen him for a while, though his practical side resisted the feeling.

"Erm, hi," he said pathetically. He saw that Hermione was staring someplace lower than his eyes and followed her gaze to the flowers clutched in his hand. "Oh, er, Mum sent these for you."

She stepped forward a bit to accept them. Ron watched as she brought them to her nose and inhaled the heady scent. "They're lovely, Ron. Be sure to thank your mum for me."

"Sure."

"Well, come on. I'll just put these in water and grab a jacket and we can get on our way."

Ron followed her to the kitchen, secretly studying his surroundings while Hermione took a crystal vase from a cabinet and filled it with water. The room was very neat and tidy, like the lounge, but instead of green it was lemon yellow. Everything was new and expensive-looking, and he reckoned that Muggle dentists must make a bit of money. Still, although it was about a hundred times fancier than his house and he felt stiff in the alien environment, it fascinated him.

This was Hermione's house. She grew up here, maybe even climbed up on the worktop to nick cookies - or carrot sticks, more likely - when her mum wasn't looking. Or maybe she sat at that oaken table and read books that weighed more than she did while eating a well-balanced breakfast. The thoughts warmed him, and he couldn't help reveling in it a little. He could just imagine a little Hermione holding very dignified discussions with her dolls about history on the kitchen floor.

"What's that giddy smile for?"

Her voice made him start, and he swallowed the offending expression off his face whilst fumbling for a response. "Nothing. Just, you know, thinking about something funny that, er, happened earlier."

Ron kicked himself mentally for the stupid answer and made a note to not let himself get distracted again, because Hermione was giving him a look as if she knew what he was really thinking, and he didn't need a mirror to tell his face was bright red.

"Well?"

"Well, what?" he asked, confused.

"Well, what was the funny thing that happened earlier?"

He searched his brain and came up with hogwash. "Oh, that. Yeah, see, Ginny was... eating breakfast. You know, erm, eggs? A-And then I said, 'How are your eggs, Ginny?' and she said, er, she said, 'Eggstraordinary.' So there you have it."

At Hermione's raucous giggling he relaxed, thinking his off-the-cuff anecdote wasn't too shabby. She was covering her mouth with her hand and her eyes sparkled.

"Ron, please promise me you'll never become an improvisational comedian."

"A what?"

"Never mind," she said as laughter faded to an amused smirk. Ron stared at her, bewildered, as she motioned for him to follow her and left the room. "We'll be late if we don't start walking."

Ron was thankful that she had changed the subject instead of wheedling out the real cause for his smile. He couldn't believe how much of a git he must have looked like, fumbling for a funny story. Eggstraordinary. Who was he kidding?

After Hermione donned a white cardigan and locked her door, they set off down the street. Ron took in the neighborhood with interest. It was reminiscent of Harry's, from what he had seen, only the houses were larger and not quite so identical. The streets were wider, as well, and although traffic wasn't heavy, many cars drove past as they wended through the suburban twists and turns and approached a crossroads.

"Is it far?" Ron asked, filling the lull in conversation.

"Not too far. Maybe a ten-minute walk. It's nice to arrive a bit early, though, especially on a Friday night, to make sure the film doesn't sell out."

"Oh. So what kind of film are we seeing, anyway? Something educational, I suppose."

Hermione laughed lightly. "No, don't worry, I'm not taking you to a documentary and you won't have to fill three rolls of parchment afterward, describing character development."

"How disappointing."

"Very funny. Actually, I don't know much about it, but I believe it's set in the future. It's supposed to have loads of fighting and humor and action, so I figured you would like that."

They had come upon the intersection and Hermione grabbed his sleeve, indicating they were to wait for something to happen to a weird box attached to a pole.

"I thought you said it was one you had been anxious to see," he said once the picture on the box changed and they stepped into the pathway of white stripes to cross the street. They were now out of the company of large houses, instead surrounded by little shops, most of them closed for the day. Several cafés were bustling, people even sitting at outdoor tables on the warm summer night.

"Well," she said, "there was one based on a famous Muggle book that I wanted to see, but it's about the tragic life of a Russian woman and I fretted that you might find it too feminine and emotional."

Ron snorted consent.

"Before my parents left yesterday, I spoke with my father and he agreed you wouldn't enjoy that film, but he told me that several of his patients, both male and female, recommended this one. I looked it up in the paper and found that they started around the same time, so we're going to the action film."

Silently thanking Mr. Granger, Ron nudged Hermione's arm. "Good choice, Hermione. You know I don't understand that girly rubbish."

He was met with her best McGonagall. "It might do you some good to immerse yourself in 'girly rubbish' once in a while. Perhaps then you'd develop past a toddler's emotional level."

"You shouldn't tease me about my disabilities," he said, nudging her again with his elbow, trying not to laugh. "Besides, why should I put all the effort in when you're always there to do it for me?"

That earned him a playful smack and a devious smile that made him blush again. "You're so difficult."

"You could be easier, yourself."

The moment suddenly went uncomfortable at Ron's unwitting innuendo and he cleared his throat and looked away, noticing in his peripheral vision that she was a bit pink in the face as well, and pointedly staring at her feet.

As quickly as the friendly banter had come, it was lost, and Ron realized too well that he was letting his feelings get the best of him, namely his tongue. He tried to think of something redeeming and neutral to say, but Hermione beat him to it.

"Is that shirt new? I've never seen you wear it before."

Ron self-consciously pulled in his shoulders. The topic may be innocent, but it reminded him of his mum's fussing over his appearance.

"Bill gave it to me before he left for Egypt," he said. "Mum made me wear it. I wanted to just wear a jumper, but she found this old thing somewhere and practically threatened to hex me, so I didn't have a choice."

"Oh."

Expecting more of a response, he chanced a glimpse at her. For some odd reason, she looked disappointed. He had no time to think on this, though, because they had apparently just arrived at their destination. Hermione came to a halt at the end of a short queue and Ron almost walked into her before he realized where they were.

The building didn't appear very large from the outside, and Ron speculated how big the viewing rooms Hermione had once described were. The white, angled awning that jutted out above the building was lighted, although it wasn't even dusk yet, and there were at least three titles that he could see, and probably more on the side of the awning that was angled away from him. The titles and times were written in big red letters and numbers. He wondered what the name of their film was, but was saved from asking when he heard Hermione requesting two tickets from a scrawny teen in a burgundy uniform who stood behind the glass-paneled ticket booth.

As Hermione reached into her small purse, Ron remembered his father's gift and hastened to extract it from his pocket. "Here, Hermione, I've got it."

She smiled and abandoned fussing with the contents of her purse, without the argument he had anticipated. "Thank you, Ron."

Unfortunately, now that he had the money out, he had no idea how much to use. He had missed anything the boy behind the glass might have said about a total. He hesitated, searching through the notes as if the appropriate ones might miraculously jump from his hand to the cashier's, but all they managed to do was gain wrinkles. Hermione must have understood his dilemma, for she took pity on him and removed the correct amount from his handful of notes and gave it to the boy.

With tickets in their hands and some newly acquired change, in the form of Muggle coinage, in his pocket, they entered the building. Ron even remembered to hold the door open for Hermione and was given a heartwarming look of gratitude.

The lobby was rather dim and spacious. In front of them, the room split into two hallways, where ticket-takers stood, also in burgundy uniforms, ripping the ticket stubs of waiting customers. To their left, a long counter boasted food items, including popcorn from a Muggle machine. It was emitting a delicious smell that caused his mouth to water and stomach to grumble; maybe his dad had been right about the trickery bit.

"Would you like to get some popcorn or sweets?" Hermione said. "I can pay for them since you covered the tickets."

Ron shook his head. "No. I mean, yes, let's get some of everything, or whatever this will buy." He thrust his remaining money, coins and all, at Hermione. "But you keep your money. You can just do me a favor and handle counting the right amount."

Surprisingly, she accepted the money and strode across the threadbare, red-tiled carpet to

stand at the end of the queue. Ron followed, wondering how many other things would end up the complete opposite of what he expected.

While they waited for an elderly couple to buy a medium drink and small popcorn, Ron stared through the glass counter at the Muggle confections. He had never heard of any of them. Some sounded rather dodgy, such as "Butterfinger" and "Kinder Eggs." In his opinion, neither butter nor fingers counted as treats, and how eggs could be kind was beyond him. Apparently they can be eggstraordinary, though, an annoying voice in his head chided.

Finally it was their turn, and he listened as Hermione ordered a large popcorn, one small and one medium Coke (whatever that was), and something called Smarties (at which he had to refrain from laughing). Then she looked at him. "What sort of sweets would you like?"

The question caught Ron off guard. He hadn't been thinking too seriously about what he wanted during his study of the Muggle snacks.

"Erm, I'll have a few Chocolate Frogs," he told the cashier, who seemed to be a clone of the boy from the booth.

"Chocolate...frogs?"

Ron knew he had made a mistake, not only from the confusion in the boy's voice, but also because Hermione looked frantic. "Er...."

"Chocolate turtles!" Hermione said loudly, her eyebrows lifted to emphasize her cover-up to Ron. "How many times must I tell you they're called turtles?"

"Oh-oh right, sorry. Turtles. You haven't got any of those, have you?"

The boy slowly produced three small, silver-wrapped objects from the back of the case and laid them next to the rest of the order, shooting Ron and Hermione wary glances, as if he feared them rabid. "Will that be all?"

"Yes!" Hermione answered, still sounding flustered. She paid for the snacks and gave Ron all the leftover money, now only coins. Then she took half of their purchases and Ron picked up the rest and they carefully wove through the milling crowd, toward a ticket-taking line.

"Honestly, Ron," she said in a hushed, remonstrative voice once they were out of earshot, "Chocolate Frogs? Does this look like Honeydukes to you?"

"I didn't think about it," he hissed. "I'm not really used to Muggle stuff, you know."

"Shh!"

"You're overreacting, Hermione. It wasn't as though I said anything about...important stuff."

"No, not this time, but if you slip up asking for sweets, who's to say you won't unthinkingly use your" - she lowered her voice further - "wand?"

"Those are completely different things!"

She just glared, unconvinced.

"All right, all right," he conceded. Any other day he would have argued the issue vehemently, but for some reason he couldn't bring himself to. Logically, it was because getting into a screaming row in the middle of a public place about whether or not he could keep his mouth shut in front of Muggles would prove her point, but he wanted the night to have a happier feel as well. "I'll try to watch myself."

"That's all I ask," she said in a dignified tone, her nose in the air. The complacent expression faded, however. "Now let's get decent seats before they're taken."

"Taken?" Ron said, looking at his ticket more closely. "They're not numbered?"

Hermione assumed normal lecturing posture and said, "No, it's first come, first serve. You want seats directly in the middle, not so close it hurts the eyes nor too far to get the full effect of the cinema. And you never want to sit adjacent to others, or right in front or behind them, so that no one has to share armrests with strangers or shift around constantly to see.

It sounded very intricate, and Ron decided as they entered the double doors that he would let her lead.

As it turned out, though, seats were abundant. The dark room, dimly lit with runners along the carpeted aisles and sconces on the tall black walls, was fairly empty. Groups of two or three people sat interspersed about the room, most chatting animatedly amongst themselves.

"I believe this came out last month," she whispered as she motioned for him to accompany her down the aisle way to one of the rows. "Normally it's much more crowded."

Arriving at the middle of the row, Hermione sat down and Ron only hesitated a second before sitting in the seat next to her - he didn't think the non-adjacent seat rule would apply to people you knew. He marveled as she placed her drink into a circular apparatus attached to the back of the seat in front of her. Ron stared at the perspiring drink in his hand, sucked up a tentative mouthful through the straw, then stuck it into the holder in front of him in awe.

"Blimey, what is that?" It felt as though the sharply sweet liquid was dancing down his throat. If butterbeer could instantly make the body feel warm and comforted, this was its polar opposite; he was cooled down and invigorated as soon as it hit his taste buds.

"It's a fizzy drink, a carbonated beverage. The carbonation is what gives it the effervescence," Hermione answered matter-of-factly. "My parents would kill me if they knew I was drinking it."

Ron eyed her askance. "Why's that?"

"It's positively full of sugar, and it dissolves teeth. When I was little and became envious of other children able to drink it, my mum put my first lost tooth in a glass with some and showed me how it was gone the next day."

Mortified, Ron ran his tongue across his teeth to make sure they were still solid. "And they serve it to people? Are they barking?"

"It doesn't work quite that quickly. It's just bad to drink it all the time, or not brush your teeth sometime afterward."

"Hmm," he responded, still unconvinced about the safety of the beverage. It did taste delicious, though, and as he was a glutton for anything overflowing with sucrose, he couldn't help picking up the cup to drink more. "So why are you drinking it if it's so bad for you? You never eat sweets from Hogsmeade."

"I wanted you to try it because I was sure you would like it, and it's part of the whole cinema experience, really. And I do enjoy sweets on occasion. I've certainly tried things at Honeydukes before, even if you don't remember."

"If you say so."

Ron gazed about the room, finally taking the time to notice his surroundings. It was a tall space, certainly nowhere near rivaling the Great Hall, but the vaulted ceiling rose at least ten meters above his head. In front of him, there was a huge red curtain, which hid the screen that Hermione had told him the film was projected onto. He remembered what she had said about film projectors, and turned in his seat to indeed see a man behind glass, in a room near the dark recesses of the ceiling, loading a disk-shaped object into a contraption.

"More interesting than you thought it would be?"

Ron spun back immediately, not yet ready to admit that he found anything about the experience entertaining.

"Wondering when it will start is all. Get it over with faster."

"Ah," she said in a way that told him she didn't believe him. "I think there's a few minutes to go yet."

Deciding that he needed a worthwhile distraction, Ron dropped two of his shiny chocolates into his lap and held up the third, tearing the silver packaging carefully. Inside was a blob with some semblance of limbs and a head. It was a pretty pitiful attempt at a turtle, he thought. He held his hand out flat, the turtle resting on his palm, and peered at it closely.

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked.

"I got a defective one."

"A defective one?"

Ron squinted at the chocolate. "It hasn't moved at all. I mean, turtles are really slow, but I reckon it should have done something by now."

"Right."

He recognized the amusement in her voice and turned his head, affronted. "What?"

"Ron, they call it a turtle because the pecans in it make it resemble one. The only way you'll get it to move is to put it in your mouth and chew it."

Clearing his throat, Ron hastily tossed the turtle, which was regretfully a bit much for a single bite, into his mouth and began chomping fixedly. It might not have the excitement of a Jumping Charm, but it tasted good enough.

"Take two bites next time," Hermione said, her repulsion at his overly stuffed mouth blatant.

"Idbedderizay," he said, making Hermione's nose wrinkle in disgust.

"Ugh, that's so rude, Ron. I know your mother taught you better than to talk with your mouth full."

Ron swallowed and washed down the chocolate with a sip of Coke. "I said it's better this way." He unwrapped another chocolate and treated it in the same manner as the first to demonstrate. "Ee?"

"Yes, unfortunately I do see," she answered priggishly.

Ron managed to smile at her, his cheeks packed like a squirrel's, straining under the effort, and continued chewing.

Hermione rolled her eyes exaggeratedly and offered Ron the popcorn bucket to hold. As soon as his turtle was swallowed, he began digging in, and just in time, because the curtains were slowly parting to expose the white screen.

"Excellent!" he said

Hermione looked at him in quizzical approval, but merely took a handful of popcorn from the bucket and settled in to watch. Ron brushed some buttery kernels from his knee and did the same.

Flickering lights danced on the screen until the picture centered and focused. The lights dimmed and blasts of noise shot out from all around the walls at the emergence of a logo emblazoned with the cinema name. After that, there were several strange ads for popcorn, fizzy drinks, and Muggle items Ron had never seen.

"What's that?" he asked Hermione when something called Motorola was advertised with blaring music and flashy colors.

"A mobile phone."

"That's the barmiest fellytone I've ever seen."

"Telephone, Ron"

And a few minutes later, when they made a big deal over a card that could apparently do all sorts of ludicrous things for your life:

"What's so special about that?"

"Visa, it's a credit card."

"What's a -"

"It's a way of buying something and actually paying for it later, like having an open account at a shop, only you can use it anywhere."

Then it moved on to previews for other movies. Ron kept turning to Hermione, saying things such as "That's so unrealistic" and "Only Muggles would think magic works like that." He inwardly allowed himself to be interested in several, although he maintained a straight face for posterity. That was simply how he and Hermione worked; neither admitted defeat until the argument had run its course and both achieved maximum irritation at stubbornness.

When the previews gave way to a black screen with names of Muggle companies and people, Ron could sense the atmosphere had changed. "So is it starting then?"

He was promptly answered with a "Shut up!" from a man sitting two rows in front of them. The man had turned around to give Ron a somewhat menacing sneer, and Ron would have returned it if he hadn't felt Hermione's hand on his shoulder and lost his train of thought.

Hermione leaned very close, dangerously close, so close he smelled her hair and felt her breath, and whispered into his ear, "Yes, but you're not supposed to talk during the picture. If you have questions I'll answer them after it's over."

It took a minute for Ron to register her words and nod. He was grateful that the room was so dark, as his face was alarmingly hot, especially his ears, where her breath had tickled him. He could still feel it traveling down his neck, phantomlike, and he tried to pay extra close attention to what was happening in the film, knowing he wasn't doing a very good job.

Falling into their normal routine of bickering and playfulness had made him forget that he had been anxious since the night before about this foreign activity. The conversations about wands and Coke and chocolate had placed him in the comfortable zone of their friendship. Now the sick feeling was back with a vengeance, and he began to wonder if Hermione was wrong about those turtles; they seemed to be holding a wild party in his stomach.

Ron shoved the popcorn bucket back at Hermione, both because it was making him feel ill to look at it and because the indirect pressure on his leg from her hand reaching into it was driving him mad.

His situation got even worse when the first ten minutes of the film touted a barely-clothed woman.

In the magical world, one just plain didn't see such things. Sure, he knew what girls looked like, from pictures in magazines that the twins had lifted from Charlie when they were younger and shown to Ron to see how red they could make his face, but this was different. He was thankful Fred and George weren't here now, because he knew his face was about five times redder than it had ever been, and it wasn't from seeing the woman. It was from seeing the woman while Hermione sat right next to him, apparently unaffected. Ron didn't think teenaged boys should have to experience that caliber of torture.

The worst seemed to be over, though. The naked woman was soon forgotten, replaced by a fascinating plot and fight scenes and humor. Ron and Hermione shared a delighted look over the flying cars, which Ron knew about firsthand, and an appalled look at the introduction of a character even more outrageous than Rita Skeeter, Lockhart, and Luna Lovegood.

But then something strange happened.

Just as the singer in the film launched into her melodic crescendo, Ron saw two arms shoot up in front of him. The man who had turned around earlier was performing a rather flamboyant yawn, and Ron watched as he lowered his arms, his left one going back to his side. The right one, however, had landed across the shoulders of the girl sitting next to him. Ron would have thought it was a mistake, but the girl turned and smiled, and the man smiled back. It had been planned, a sneaky way to make physical contact on what must be a first outing together.

His curiosity piqued, Ron covertly looked over to another couple, around the age of his parents, who were sitting in the next row up, much farther to the right. As he watched, they shared a short peck on the lips. Ron then turned his gaze to the left, careful to avoid drawing Hermione's attention, and looked at a couple who was sitting in their row, all the way down at the end. He stared hard, trying to figure out why they didn't seem to be sitting properly in their seats....

Ron's head snapped back to the screen so fast he knew he had startled Hermione; he could feel her eyes on him, and he wished she would look away, so as not to see the mortification etched on his face.

The couple to the left was kissing, nay, snogging, so enthusiastically that he knew his mum would have marched over and grabbed both of them by the ears and given them the rebuke of a lifetime, whether they were strangers or not. He was certain he had seen hands in places decent wizards didn't talk about in public.

Even though Ron was scandalized and fairly intimidated by what he was seeing around him, it made him hypersensitive to the girl at his side. That randy, seventeen year-old imagination of his was on overdrive, and his eyes kept drifting down to her slender arm, balanced on the armrest between them, as if by magnetic force. Things were going on in the film, important, plot-driving things, but he couldn't concentrate. That arm was the closest part of her body, and it called his attention like a beacon, begging to be touched. If he could just find a way to slide his elbow onto the armrest and feel it....

For several agonizing minutes, Ron contemplated Hermione's arm, her possible reaction to him touching it with his, and the fact that he was lost as to the current action in the film. At last he clenched his jaw, hopefully to add to his shaky resolve, and slid his arm next to hers.

As soon as he made contact, she had yanked her arm away. Ron looked at her before his mind could tell him not to, retracting his arm at the same time.

"Sorry," he muttered, and offered her an apologetic smile before returning to the screen.

In the next instant, he felt a tug at his arm, drawing it back to the armrest. And then Hermione's resettled as well, in front of his but still touching, just the barest amount.

He hadn't looked at her during the exchange; he was barely holding back a triumphant, ecstatic grin with his eyes on the film. That spot of forearm, along with his left shoulder and a small bit of his right cheek, were now the most sacred parts of his entire body. Hermione had touched those places, not in a mundane way, but in a way that really meant something to him.

The rest of the film passed by in a blur of bad guys and last-minute saves. Ron didn't care so much what was happening, although he did follow along and enjoy the remainder of the film, even managing not to blush when the main characters had an inappropriate snogging session of their own. His attention was mostly focused on Hermione, though. Thrilled jolts shot through him whenever she moved to bring snacks to her mouth, thus causing friction at the point their bodies touched. Ron made sure to pick up his coke frequently, and use both hands to drink it so he could move his arm against hers. He even savored his last chocolate turtle in three bites, pivoting at the elbow to bring it to his mouth each time, loving the way he could feel her warmth and cursing the cotton barrier of his shirt. Several heart-pounding times, Hermione leaned close to share her Smarties, which turned out to be coated chocolates, and Ron noticed she kept her elbow flush with his in handing them off, even though it couldn't have been a comfortable angle. He would have liked to believe that she didn't move her arm because she wanted to remain touching him, but an insecure voice told him it was just because she didn't want him taking the opportunity to hog the armrest, or maybe because she didn't want him to feel as though he kicked her off again. But he ignored the voice, and decided for once to savor it while it lasted.

Unfortunately, it was over too soon. He knew once the screen went black again, and the names of Muggles began scrolling up it, that his ephemeral paradise was over. The yawn-maneuver man and his date stood to leave, and the older couple to the right was making their way up the aisle already. Even the lewd pair to the left of Hermione was finishing their snog.

"Well, we should head back to my house, I suppose."

Ron cried out internally when her arm left his touch and she collected her purse, the rest of her Smarties, the popcorn bucket, and her drink.

"S'pose so," he said, attempting to mask resignation. He collected his things, as well. "I reckon the Muggle cinnamon isn't as bad as I made it out to be."

Hermione grinned at his confession and all but bounced out of her seat. "I knew it! I knew you'd like it!"

He was used to seeing her self-righteous when she proved him wrong, or at the very best indignant. She rarely went for all out jubilation. "Yeah, yeah, you win." His voice was full of mock reluctance, as he couldn't quite make it convincing while returning her happy smile. The loss of her closeness was regretful, but sharing a good-natured argument was a bearable replacement.

As Ron and Hermione left the cinema, they discussed the film, laughing and comparing and speculating.