Disclaimer: In addition to not owning anything related to Harry Potter, the title is from the lyrics to Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros' Home. I also don't own a house. Sigh.

A/N: Over on hpshipweeks dot tumblr dot com, it's Harry/Ginny week. If you're a fan, I'd definitely recommend heading over there to see all the amazing writing and artwork being created :) My own little contribution is to write a bunch of prompts I've received recently that are all based on Harry and Ginny's post-war lives together and bung 'em in one little collection. This is not a deep, serious work full of intricate plotting and many twists, it's pure, sugary fluff. I appreciate that that's not for everyone, but if you like that sort of thing, please enjoy five days of Harry and Ginny being silly goofballs together. What can I say, I clearly crave domesticity far too much...

(i) Harry and Ginny buy a house together

It had been a slow night at work, no issues or major problems to deal with so he'd been able to clock off early, but Ginny was already up when he apparated back to Grimmauld Place. She was sat in the middle of the living room, wearing a pair of tiny pyjama shorts and one of his old t shirts, comically oversize, her hair gathered up on top of her head with a quill sticking through it to keep it in place. She was holding a huge steaming mug of tea and was surrounded by piles and piles of parchment.

"I hate nightshifts," she said, as he entered the room. "Almost as much as I hate paperwork."

"Good morning to you, too," he replied, leaning against the sofa to remove his work boots.

"I think you must be taking all the nights to avoid having to do all the organisational legal things about moving house," she said, and he grinned.

"You've caught me," he said, walking over to her. She tilted her head up as he sat down, and he kissed her lips quickly. She tasted of tea and buttered toast. "But it looks like you've got it all under control," he added, gesturing around the room. In addition to the piles of parchment, the living room was slowly starting to fill with boxes that had labels like BATHROOM and HARRY'S RUBBISH and FRAGILE—DON'T LET RON TOUCH. "So I guess I'll just leave you to sort it all out without any help..."

"See this?" Ginny asked, picking up a pile of parchment so thick it could probably be used as a doorstop, or as a Hermione-sized bit of light reading. He nodded. "This is the contract for the house. If you do, I'll edit it so you're not allowed to set foot within five miles of the place. Or maybe I'll just concuss you with it..."

"You could probably put me in hospital for a week with that thing," he agreed. "Have you read it yet?"

"Eh," she pulled a face. "I've skimmed through it. But I want to get it all read before we meet with the solicitor on Thursday."

"Thursday's the solicitor? I thought we were at Gringotts on Thursday?"

"No, that's Tuesday. Fleur set it up for us, remember? Tuesday at eleven thirty. But don't worry! I've made us a calendar," she said. "I've been channelling my inner Hermione." She waved her wand, and an enormous piece of parchment floated up and hovered in the air before them. With another wave of her wand, a grid with text appeared, in several different colours with flashing boxes and the occasional doodle of a flower.

"This is everything we need to do before moving day. So, things in purple—like the bank on Tuesday and the solicitor's Thursday—are things we both need to be at," she explained. "Then things in green are just me—I figured it only need one of us to see the bloke who's redoing the bathroom next week, and you're working then, so I'll go. Things in red are just you, and yellow is family and friends things—like, here, look, George is getting a big shipment of ingredients in next Monday, and he said we could have the boxes. And so on and so on, until, in exactly one month and three days, we get the keys!"

"Wow," said Harry, genuinely impressed at the level of detail. "You have been channelling your inner Hermione."

Ginny nodded. "Well, I asked her for advice and her eyes actually lit up, I swear—it was like the old days of revision timetables. She offered to organise it for us, which was very sweet, but I prefer to just have general deadlines, rather than my life compartmentalised by the hour..."

"Minute," he amended, and she laughed. "You did all that this morning?"

"And last night. I hate it when you're out," she explained. "I never can sleep when you're working nights. So I thought I should put my time to good use..."

"I'm lucky to have you looking out for me," Harry said, smiling.

"Don't you forget it," she laughed.

Harry pulled her half onto his lap. "I'm excited," he said.

"Me too," she said with feeling, but then grew contrite. "But also terrified. All these meetings with the bank, and lawyers, and contracts and mortgages...don't they know I'm actually a child? That no one should be handing me so much responsibility?"

He laughed. "It's not funny, is it?" he said. The amount of adulting he'd had to do in the past few months, since they'd found their home, had terrified him—and he earned a living catching Dark Wizards. "But hey. As long as I've got you by my side..."

She smiled hugely at this, looking so beautiful in the early morning light, with half her hair escaping from the quill-bun on top of her head and toothpaste flecks on her—his—shirt that he couldn't help but lean in and kiss her, then kiss her again, harder, as she shifted positions, wrapping her legs around him. He pulled her close, slipping his hands under her shirt and feeling the soft skin as she wound her own hands through his hair, tugging on it as she kissed him with fervour. They began to move together, falling backwards against the carpet until—

"Oh, bugger," said Ginny, as her half-drunk mug of tea was knocked over, soaking both the floor and several pieces of parchment.

Harry re-focused, with some difficulty. "Was it anything important?" he asked, nodding at the parchment that she was trying—unsuccessfully—to siphon tea out of.

"The architect's plans for the bathroom remodelling," she sighed.

"You know what? He can send us another copy," Harry said, tugging on her shirt again. She smirked. He never could resist that.

"You're right," she said, and she kissed him again.