Title: The Magic of Words
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters/Pairings: Ginny/Harry
Rating: PG
Prompt: Harry Potter, in his "do muggle work campaign" makes Ginny go food shopping in a market OR Ginny and Harry's first post war vacation (I did both)
Disclaimer: I claim nothing, Rowling is the Master
Author Notes: A prequel to Burnt Christmas Pie, another Ginny piece. My Freddy-friend prompted me at work, so this was written in under four hours

Ginny looked down at the bright yellow box clutched in her gloved hand and tried to ignore the curious stares she was getting from her fellow shoppers. Most believed her old-fashioned clothing to be an eccentricity that could be attributed to extreme wealth, those that didn't presumed she was the young mistress to an older and much wealthier man. All were wary and distrustful of her presence, her accent and regal bearing separating her intrinsically from the local populace of the small seaside community in the Pacific Northwest. It may have made her feel a little more at ease if she could have only guessed at the fanciful stories the Muggles around her told themselves about her personage.

She sighed down at the box and thought longingly of the cellphone in her pocket, but knew that Kreacher would only beg her to come home, or allow him to come to her and assist in person, and her mother was basically inept at Muggle technology… and Hermione would scold her for not being more comfortable in a Muggle grocery.

In the baking aisle, be sure to look at the back of the box for the added ingredients before leaving the store, so that you don't forget anything.

Her own words – or rather, Hermione's scripted words – from her most recent radio spot echoed in her mind and she turned the box over to look at the directions. Her eyes swam at the pictorial instructions for measuring, stirring, pouring… she thrust the box back on the shelf and walked determinedly to the next aisle, ignoring the tears threatening to build up behind her cool facade.

The next aisle was a disaster. Within seconds, Ginny was longing for the safety of brightly colored cake mix boxes, with their cheerful mascots and logos. She stared blankly at the bottles, bags, and boxes with foreign print on them. "Ethnic Foods" aisle?

"Excuse me?" Ginny looked down and saw an elderly woman, possibly of Hispanic decent, looking at her with a concerned expression. "Child, are you alright? You look as if you've seen a ghost."

Ginny laughed, "I'm just a little lost." Her accent rang in her own ears, jarring amidst the sounds of the shoppers around her.

The old woman nodded knowingly, "Are you here on vacation?"

Ginny blinked, "Ye-es… Well, I mean, we were supposed to be on holiday, my husband and I, but then…" she shrugged. In the woman's nut-brown eyes there was a flash of understanding and Ginny blushed from embarrassment.

It was nice, for once, to not have to explain: Why yes, this is my first time to America. Thank you, I am enjoying my time here greatly. Yes, my husband has been awfully busy with work since we arrived, but it is so great to have some time to myself. The whole conversation made her feel nauseous. She had been so looking forward to the trip, the two never having had a proper wedding trip because of the speed of their engagement, the public appearances that were demanded of both of them, and the onslaught of publicity over his new projects. It was the perfect destination, rather than the tropical beaches that seemed to always call to her brothers, Ginny had been looking forward to camping, fishing, kayaking, and exploring the cold coast of a foreign country that would still feel as homey as possible. But within moments of landing (Harry had insisted on Muggle-travel, which had made her queasy), they had been greeted with demands from the American Wizarding community on Harry's time. And Ginny had nearly lost her holiday since.

Still, she was embarrassed that the old woman had pegged her and her husband's story so quickly – how cliché her life had become: the beautiful young wife to the hero, the workaholic. Was she so easy to read? Had she really lost so much of herself to his career and goals, so early?

The woman snatched the shopping list Harry had written up that morning out of her hand and wiggled her eyebrows at her, "I think we can get this settled in no time." And so Ginny spent her morning breathlessly keeping up with the woman as she breezed down aisle after aisle with a clarity of vision and single-mindedness that reminded Ginny of Hermione. Some of the items Harry had put on the list were replaced by Lavinia for higher quality items. Ginny added to the basket a bottle of white wine and a tub of chocolate ice cream for herself.

After paying at the cashier (only possible with Lavinia's assistance), Ginny turned to her and shyly asked, "Please, let me buy you a cup of coffee?" Lavinia tried to shake her head, but Ginny took the woman's hands in her own. "Please. It's the least I can do. Besides," she added with a smile, "back home we don't have coffee shops like you have here. I've never stopped in a café for a drink – all we have are pubs." Lavinia shook her head at the sheer barbarism of the British Empire, before directing Ginny to a small café tucked between what appeared to be a hardware store and a bookstore on the main street of town.

Ensconced in small armchairs, with their groceries scattered all about, Ginny learned all the amazing details of Lavinia's life. Her immigration to the States from Cuba as a teen with her young husband, their struggles to protect their many children from heartache, how proud she was of her grandchildren for attending university, the death of her husband, and all the intimate stories in-between. Sitting there, in her first coffee shop, in her first real conversation with a Muggle, Ginny began to realize the scope of the world outside the very small community that she had grown up in. Her cup of tea grew cold, forgotten on the table between them, as she ate up the stories Lavinia shared of a world and reality so far away from her own. There was magic in her story, in her ability to share so much emotion through the mere act of speaking words.

That morning Ginny felt, for the first time, that she understood Harry's campaign to teach the Wizarding world about Muggles. Harry and Hermione were just far too logical, far too level-headed, far too practical, and far too close to subject to know how much more easily their plan could be accomplished. She thought back to Muggle Studies at Hogwarts and realized how much was lacking from her education – not just names of cities and dates of wars – but the human connection that Lavinia was able to provide her, just for the price of a cup of coffee.

When she unlocked the door of the small rental home they were staying in, Ginny's senses were assaulted with the overwhelming scent of lilies. The room was filled, every available space showered with every type of lily the world over. The shades were drawn and candlelight flooded the room. She shut the door quietly behind her.

"Ginny?" Harry burst in from the kitchen, his eyes filled with worry, a crease appearing between his eyebrows at the sight of her. "I expected you back hours ago. Is everything alright?" He grabbed her to him and buried his face in her hair, his breath ragged and uneven.

"I'm fine," she laughed. "I stopped for a cup of tea." She held up the groceries to him and he kissed her cheek softly as he took them from her. "I didn't think you'd be here… that you'd be busy…" Her protestations seemed pointless now, looking about the room at his handiwork. She punched him in the arm as he walked back to the kitchen with the bags, "I thought you had to work?" She heard him chuckle as he shifted items around in the back of the house. She heard the distinctive sound of glasses clinking together and shifted her weight from foot to foot, unsure of what to do. "Harry? Do you need help?"

"Don't move!" he shouted, carrying out a tray with chilled champagne, glasses, and fresh strawberries. After momentarily setting the tray on the low coffee table in the center of the room, he was at her side and had gathered her up in his arms, off her feet like a small child. She wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head against his shoulder, relaxing into his embrace.

He set her softly on the loveseat and whispered, "Today was supposed to make up for–" but she wouldn't let him finish, she pulled him down beside her and kissed him deeply. That afternoon, they made up for the weeks of long work nights, for the hurried dinners between tasks, for the awkward silences and uncomfortable want that seemed lately to so fully define their time together, for the rushed, grappling moments in the middle of the night.

The next morning, Ginny sunk into a chair next to Harry at the kitchen table and stole a piece of his toast, swinging her bare legs onto his lap. He looked at her with a shy smile and then nodded at the front page of the Daily Prophet. There she was, talking animatedly to Lavinia in the coffee shop. Apparently reporters didn't believe in allowing the Potters to take a holiday.

"I wanted to talk to you about this yesterday but… you were a little distracting," Ginny said between bites of toast.

Harry shrugged, "Hermione wants to pop in today, discuss whether we need to make a statement or do damage control… something about –"

Ginny placed a finger on his lips to quiet him. "What if I had a better idea?" she smiled.