Disclaimer: Not mine, yo.

Don't ask. Seriously.

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.

Ginny's eyes narrowed dangerously at their resident unfriendly ghost. "Oh, if that's how you want to play it, Snape," she said coolly, "how about...James. James...Sirius. James Sirius Potter."

Snape flinched violently. "You wouldn't--"

"I think it's got a nice ring to it," Ginny said with a cruel smile. "Just imagine, little James Sirius growing up right here with his funny ghost friend."

"You're an evil, evil woman," Snape said coolly. "Very well. I concede, name the brat whatever you wish, I'll comment no more."

"Right," Harry said, eyeing them both oddly. "So--not Wendell Ivanhoe, I'd say, not that it's not a, a nice name, but--"

"Oh, I wasn't joking," Ginny said cheerfully. "James Sirius will do quite well."

Snape tried to bang his head against the wall, but it went right through. Harry cleared his throat. "I don't suppose I get a say--"

"No," Ginny said.

"Let me guess," Snape said dryly. "Remus Wendell Ivanhoe Dobby Potter."

"You're a very bad man," Harry said, though his grin betrayed him. Little James promptly poked him in the eye as he tried to wrestle his daddy's glasses off, which Ginny considered appropriate punishment for finding Snape amusing at her expense. Obviously, her clever little James already knew which parent to back up in a crisis.

"MacDougal Arthur," she announced, shifting in her seat so that the aforementioned MacDougal wouldn't press quite so insistently on her bladder.

"Er," Harry said.

"Dear Merlin, woman, you cannot be serious."

"There's nothing wrong--"

"Er."

"Nothing wrong with MacDougal Arthur Potter?"

Ginny glared. "Well," she snapped, "do either of you have any better ideas?"

"I was thinking, maybe Albus," Harry said, jiggling James a bit in his arms. James giggled happily, then pulled a horrible face at Snape, who gazed back with utter hatred in his eyes.

"Your spawn is evil and must die. Drown it before it turns on us all with destructive, murderous rage."

"Be nice," Harry admonished absently.

"Albus," Ginny repeated thoughtfully. "You don't think it's morbid, do you, having both our children named for dead men?"

"We're living with a dead man," Harry pointed out wryly. James grabbed his chin and tugged, and Harry grinned brilliantly down at his son. Snape watched with a sour sneer, muttering under his non-breath about Jameses and Potters and idiocy and toddlerly malevolence. Ginny had a disturbing feeling that in reality, Snape was just put out that Harry was paying attention to someone other than him. The Professor was practically a toddler himself, emotionally--he had very definite opinions about her and Harry's complete attention being his due, and was rather pathetically jealous of James for stealing the spotlight, as it were.

"You know," Ginny told Snape, after catching a particularly unflattering description of the state of James' soul (or, more accurately, the lack thereof), "you're practically a Potter yourself these days, so you might want to lay off the insults."

Snape looked almost comically horrified. "I am no such thing!"

"Oh, but it's true," Ginny said sweetly. "I mean, James and little Albus'll grow up with you as their quirky dead Uncle Snapey."

Harry blanched. Snape looked like a man suddenly confronted with the prospect of unspeakable eternal torment, only see-through.

"You know," she went on ruthlessly, a brilliant idea blossoming in the rich and fertile compost heap of her mind, "in the name of honoring family and all...yeah, that'll do nicely. Albus Severus Potter. What d'you think, Harry?"

"Er."

"How about you, Uncle Snapey?"

"Er," Harry tried again, urgently.

"You loathsome hateful fiend from hell," Snape snarled.

"Hell," James said, fully equipped with a toddler's unerring instinct for picking out the worst possible word in a sentence to repeat. Ginny was so very proud.

"We can call him Sevvy," she added, just because Snape was honestly that horrible a housemate.

"I didn't think you hated him quite so much," Harry said, blinking. He looked a little sorry for Snape, but then again, Harry was a pathetically soft touch sometimes.

"Harry," she said patiently, "every single day of my pregnancy, he's made a snide comment about my weight. He calls James horrible names. He calls us horrible names. He throws things at Ron whenever he visits--which, all right, is pretty funny. But still. I grew up with the twins and Percy, and he manages to be more annoying than all three of them together without even having a body."

"But...should we really be using our children's names as tools for revenge?" Harry asked, because he just had to go and be inconveniently moral at the most inappropriate times.

"Quite right," Snape agreed, wild-eyed. "It's hardly seemly--"

"Oh, it's not revenge," Ginny said smugly. "I mean, we're honoring the dead, here. Snapey."

Snape lunged at her, but his hands went through her throat and Ginny remained un-strangled. "Oy," Harry protested dutifully, if not exactly heatedly (after all, Snape tried to strangle both of them on a regular basis), "No attacking my wife."

"If ghosts could commit suicide," Snape said darkly, "I would in an instant. An instant."

"Unca Snapeysnapeysnapey. Da."

"Foul hellspawn!"

"SnapeyPOOPOO."

"Aww, Harry, look at them glare! They're so cute."

"Er."

"You're naming the child Lily," Snape commanded, and Ginny shrugged.

"Lily Nymphadora has a nice ring to it," she agreed.

"Not happening," Harry said. He was sprawled on the floor, tickling James with one hand while holding Al gently to his chest with the other. James writhed, giggling, while Al watched the room with sleepy eyes, thumb stuck firmly in his mouth.

"What--"

"One name," Harry said firmly and a little desperately. "One name that isn't attached to someone dead. That's all I ask."

"Lily Hermione?" Ginny said a little dubiously.

Harry considered, then shook his head. Al drooled on him contentedly. "I don't think so. But--I think we're overdue for some alliteration. Most wizarding families have at least a bit, you know. Bellatrix Black, William Weasley, Luna Lovegood, Severus Snape--" He trailed off, eyebrows shooting up; Ginny knew exactly what he was thinking, and approved.

"Lily Luna, huh?"

"Of course," Snape sulked. "Of course you'd name her after a bug-eyed maniac."

"We named our first son after a terminal prat and an ex-con, and our second son after a manipulative Grindelwald-enabling bastard and a bullying greasy-haired Death Eater," Ginny said matter-of-factly. "Can you really say the maniac bit comes as a surprise?"

Snape sneered disdainfully. Ginny winced as Lily Luna kicked out vengefully, presumably at the alliteration. Al stopped sucking his thumb long enough to say, "Unca Snapey," and everyone politely pretended not to be horrified and terror-stricken by Snape's tiny stiff-looking almost-fond smile.

"For the record," Harry announced, "Gin, you're dealing with your family when they demand to know why I never let you name any of the kids. I'm sick of your brothers having quiet little talks with me about being selfish and possessive and name-hogging or whatever."

"I'll tell 'em that you absolutely refused my suggestion for our daughter's middle name," Ginny replied with a smile.

"Fiend," Harry and Snape muttered together.