"It's true what they say: you are a particularily brilliant witch," Harry grinned, and in a fluid motion, scooped the petite girl into his arms, turning and slowly making his way up the steps towards the master bedroom that he and Kreacher were slowly revamping into his own. He knew that Sirius hated this place - but he couldn't leave. It was the headquarters of The Order of the Phoenix once, and when he ran his hands along the walls, he could almost feel the power of the place. He could picture Dumbledore at the table, talking with Sirius and Remus and the Weasleys and Kingsley and even Snape, Tonks with shockingly pink hair or a violent violet. Just like once, decades before, his parents had had those kinds of meetings. He couldn't leave. Not now.
Besides: Kreacher had already gotten down the portrait of Mrs. Black and now had it propped reverently in his hole. Harry would remake this place over, into one that would welcome the new millenium. A new life. A new family: he looked at the laughing Ginny in his arms and grinned. He'd make this the kind of house Sirius never had.
Harry raised his eyebrow knowingly. "I'd like to inform you, Miss Weasley, that I alone made the bed. Hospital corners, plump pillows, all of it. If you need a moment to genuflect at my incredible skills, I will understand," he said grandly.
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