Harry Potter One Shots

The Wendell that Wasn't

All rights belong to the author, opalish

Harry was certain that there were fates worse than being haunted by Severus Snape, but honestly, he couldn't think of a single one. And it wasn't for lack of trying.

"Even Bellatrix," he said darkly to his ghostly companion. "I'd even take Bellatrix before you."

Snape's spirit eyed him coldly. "Your gratitude overwhelms me. Never mind that I gave my life for-"

"Shut. It," Harry growled. He pulled his blanket up over his head, but it really didn't help. "Can't you go somewhere else?" he begged, though it came out muffled to his own ears.

"Trust me, Potter, I would not subject myself to this sort of torture if I had any choice in the matter. We appear to be stuck with one another."

Two bodies-one insubstantial, the other quite solid, shuddered in unison.

"My life is a giant cosmic joke," Harry observed.

"As is my afterlife," Snape said, glowering.

"You know," Ginny said thoughtfully, curled up in bed with Harry, her head resting comfortably on his chest, "when I agreed to marry you, I really didn't think it'd mean being married to Snape, too."

Harry grunted.

"Eloquent as always, I see," Snape said, perched on the window seat and looking pointedly everywhere but at them.

"Bugger off, Snape," Harry and Ginny chorused wearily.

"It's good to know my sacrifices have engendered such profound appreciation in you both," Snape said sourly.

"You're a git. An obsessive greasy dead git who can't ever move on from anything, including, apparently, my bedroom," Harry said curtly. Ginny was mildly surprised-her husband generally just ignored Snape when the ghost was putting on martyred airs or being overly difficult. Honestly, Snape seemed to prefer sulking off in the attic alone to bothering them, which usually suited everyone just fine (except little Teddy, who was utterly fascinated by Snape's nose and delighted in copying it onto his own face whenever possible, to Snape's unending despair).

"And you're an immature, thoughtless, reckless and self-righteous menace to society," Snape replied, stung.

Ginny sighed.

"And what are you planning on naming your spawn, dare I even ask?" Snape said, raising a ghostly eyebrow. Ginny patted her swollen belly fondly-she'd just gotten back from St. Mungo's, and the Healers had finally confirmed it was a boy.

"I was thinking maybe Fred," Harry said slowly, settling down next to Ginny on the couch. Snape, of course, remained standing, arms folded over his chest, a slight frown on his thin silvery lips.

Ginny smiled sadly. "I think George's got dibs on that one," she said, before brightening. "I've always liked Ivanhoe, you know."

"Ivanhoe?" Harry and Snape said together, and in much the same tone. Ginny scowled.

"Okay, fine, maybe not Ivanhoe. For a first name, anyway. What about Wendell?"

"Potter," Snape said, with a sort of vicious glee, "I believe your wife is punishment enough for any and all wrongs you've ever done me. Wendell Ivanhoe Potter. Oh, yes."

Harry went pale at the very thought of poor little Wendell Ivanhoe, growing up sad and lonely and bullied, spending his teen years writing horrific angst-ridden poetry about how he was doomed to a life of horrific pain and isolation because his parents had saddled him with such a horrific excuse for a name. It was all rather horrific.