He’s slanted. It’s the way he gets when he’s at this particular stage of inebriation — body off-kilter, dragonskin coat hung onto one shoulder (he’d gotten distracted with chasing a floating chocolate concoction in the process of taking it off), messy mop of ginger hair raised in parts and flipped over in others. Over the course of the evening, his syllables slide into one another, songs and shouts rolling off his tongue with supreme ease as he wanders and tilts his way through the crowd.
George is drunk — no, slanted — and, soon enough, he is one of the very last stragglers around.
As far as he’s concerned, there are only two places he can be when existing at such an angle: in the company of someone taking up the sorry task of sobering him up or — perhaps more idealistically for the intoxicated wizard — in the presence of another also tilted on their own axis, spinning to the finality of the moment that encircled them all.
“A toast!” He demands to the nearest concertgoer with a kind of revelry that only Ogden’s Old can imbue, and snaps his fingers to refill his glass of Firewhiskey. “To us, the very last Sisterheads to see them — EVER!”
seamus was, in a word, WANKERED. his voice was hoarse from singing and his legs had seen better days - scratched and bruised from jumping around and falling into others. his head would be pounding for a week and aberforth would skin him alive if he found out he’d skived off work but he didn’t care. he was having the time of his life.
george, it seemed, was much the same way.
“ fucking COME ON, ” he yelled, taking a swig from the bottle in his hand. “ fucking history this, mate. mate. MATE, ” he said, sticking the almost empty bottle under his arm so he could place his hands on george’s shoulders, only spilling a little bit. “ have to say, the fucking - the FIREWORKS, man. and the pyra- pero- FIRE. fucking beautiful, pal, just, ” he removed one of his hands to wipe a tear threatening to fall from his eye, “ fucking SPECTACULAR. ”
at this point, with the amount of alcohols aura has consumed through the event ( added to the fact that she doesn’t have the best endurance ) she already reached the ‘everyone is my best friend in the entire world’ drunk level. the scream made her respond with equal excitement, raising her own bottle in the air and clinking them together as if they were wine glasses before taking a quick sip. “i’m like… TOTALLY having the time of my life!” her words are not quite as slurred as you might think, since she does know how to fake it really well; but everything else about her including the flares that were making her hair glow slightly and the tint of her cheeks were enough indicator that she was more than tipsy. “this day should go down in history, i’m telling you!”
seamus WHOOPED as their bottles clanked together, toasting her with a sip of his own. there wasn’t a lot that could bring seamus down from his high ( not even singeing his own eyebrows off again, thank merlin he’d only managed to turn them blue with the flare ) but every scream and cheer riled him up even more, so being in close proximity with aura’s glee made him even more giddy. “ ah GO ON mate ! me too ! ” he grinned, taking another swig of his bottle. “ i’m telling you now this is gonna go down as one of the best nights of my life. wait - everyone’s life. HISTORY, even. ”
alicia LOVED the energy, screaming right back at seamus with a grin. her bouncing had caused a significant amount of her drink to go all over her hand, but she was ignoring that with the expert skill only acquired by someone well and truly FUCKED. “weird sisters FUCKIN’ WIN! AGAIN!” she genuinely let out a squeal of delight as seamus held onto her shoulders and shook his hair, the coloured powder landing everywhere but her hair –adorning her shoulders and face. she leant forward on her tip-toes, not having to reach super far upwards, and pressed a wet kiss to his cheek. “you absolute legend.” she took the bottle offered, lifting her own half-full cup up in response, to indicate swapsies. a swig down, followed by a full-body shiver from the strength that still managed to sit in its taste.
he threw his head back and LAUGHED after she slapped a kiss to his cheek, returning it with one of his own in the general direction of her cheek, but with his whisky loose legs, probably ended up in the general direction of her nose. “ fucking DEADLY, always wanted to be a legend. ” he grinned, swapping drinks with her and taking a generous gulp from her cup, roaring with laughter as she shivered. “ bloody RANK isn’t it ? found it gathering dust in aberforth’s - speaking of - ” he leaned forward, resting a hand on her shoulder to steady himself and using the other to motion her closer, then cupping it around his mouth as he whispered, “ if you see the auld coot, I WASN’T HERE. i’m at home dying a veeery painful death, yeah ? ”
“that and spite, i’m sure, are doing WONDERS for my skin.” she and seamus really WERE two peas in a baby faced, short statured pod. it would’ve been funny if it weren’t so tragic, the two of them seemingly in need of the exact same thing ; someone, that is, who looked the part of the adult they all were. taken aback by his sudden lightbulb moment, she took the flares ( flares? flares ) without even stopping to QUESTION why he had them ( honestly, she’d sort of given up questioning seamus finnigan ), instead watching him, intently. when he emerged with a bottle of firewhiskey, she gave a full on WOOP of happiness. “seamus, i never thought i’d say this- but you are my hero-” she even pressed a lightning fast peck to his cheek, her grin as she stood back wide and toothy, “oh, man. firewhiskey. i haven’t even had any yet, and it’s bringing me back- did you know there was a six month period where i couldn’t smell it without throwing up immediately? what better way to toast to the end of the weird sisters.”
seamus GRINNED as ginny pecked his cheek, ignoring the fact his cheeks were probably as red as her hair at the easy affection. “ ah, cop yerself on, gin, did you EXPECT anything else from me ? ” hero - now there’s a thought, one that had his alcohol muddled brain giggling. he took his flares back and shoved them into his expanded pocket, giving a quick glance about for the security wizard he was sure was after him, before pulling out a can of whatever lager has been sitting in the corner of aberforth’s basement for the past hundred or so years. “ merlin wept that sounds rough, considering how much of a BOOZER you are, ” he winked, throwing her a grin, before blowing the cobwebs off his can and opening it up, holding it up in a toast. “ TO THE BEST FUCKING BAND IN THE WORLD. ”
it was easy to keep track of his best friend, luckily - he was literally always glowing. it was a step up from being covered in soot right? “you took all out to a whole ‘nother level, Seamus.” Dean laughed, grabbing the bottle in the other boy’s hand and swiftly exchanging it for the expensive firewhiskey he had bought from the bar (he was a sucker, and should have realized earlier), before taking a large gulp.
seamus BEAMED at his best mate. his head was a bit hazy from the drink and the excitement, but it always seemed to clear up when dean was about, probably because they were so in tune with each other, he supposed, he’d always be able to find dean in a crowd. that and the fact he seemed to tower over everyone - well, seamus at least. “ what’s the saying ? go big or go home ? ” he made an indignant noise before quickly snatching up dean’s bottle. “ i’d be careful with that one mate, it makes drinking THIS, ” he held up the firewhiskey bottle, “ seem like drinking juice. ”
it was HARD TO MISS seamus. his hair was lit up like a christmas tree, and he would not stop yelling. alicia thought it was awesome. she’d spotted the flares a couple of times in the midst of the crowd –tried to push her way through to yell a compliment in their direction, but was pushed backwards too many times. it was only through chance that she’d bumped into him on her way back from the makeshift bar tent, one drink left behind and the other only half-full. “IMMENSE AS FUCK. you look INCREDIBLE, mate!” she’s far too close to his face, jumping on the balls of her feet, yelling a touch too loudly, but hopefully seamus gets that it’s friendly, not threatening.
seamus all but SCREAMED as he saw someone bounding up to him, first in shock but then quickly in glee as he bounced with her. “ isn’t this just the best shit you’ve ever SEEN ?! ” he yelled back, the pure excitement and firewhiskey coursing through him. he’d always been loud, but in this field he’s just one voice amongst many, although he reckons the din the pair of them are making could put a few of the bigger groups to shame. “ you think ? HERE- ” he took hold of her shoulders and shook his head to send the coloured powder flying, trying and probably failing to share some of it with her. “ now we’re both a pair of rides, eh ? ” he grinned, taking a swig from his bottle and holding it out.
“do me a favour?” all in a huff ( and the set of her mouth BETRAYING it, at a distance ), ginny didn’t waste any time dancing around the subject with a few pleasantries ; she was too irritated for those, and for finding a better way to bring up her need. “they won’t take my id,” tossers, she thought, darkly, "as IF i’ve snuck out of hogwarts just to catch a show and down a couple bevvies, but apparently, that’s more believable than this face passing for twenty two. buy me a firewhiskey?”
“ i know the feeling, ” he huffed, resentful at the fact his short stature was often the subject of sceptical quirks of eyebrows when he told bar men and bouncers that he was twenty four years of age thank you very much. “ i think it’s the RAGE at being ID’d. keeps us young. ” he cast a glance behind him to the bar before returning to face her with a shrug. “ ‘m not gonna be much help to be honest but- OH ! hold these- ” he instructed, holding the two flares he was holding with one hand whilst rooting around in his expanded pockets with the other, coming back up not 30 seconds later with a full bottle of firewhiskey. “ compliments of my dashing self. those eejits’ll charge you a fortune for a shot anyway. ”
seamus was, in a word, BUZZED. the swell of the crowd set his nerve endings alight and it’d take a lot to wipe the grin off his face. “ SLAINTE MOTHERFUCKERS ! ” he cried, taking a long swig from a bottle he’d found in the basement of the hog’s head - aberforth won’t miss it, he’ll just fill it up with water or lighter fluid or something and put it back - and winced and shook his head, the colours from the flares that clung to his hair shaking out around his head in a cloud of technicolor. “ isn’t this just fucking IMMENSE ? ”
⧼ henrik holm, cis male, he/him / sometimes by gerry cinnamon + constellations of freckles twinking to life and framed by rosy sunburnt shoulders, the bittersweet sting of a bitten tongue and the singing of knuckles against brick, arran sweaters and beat up trainers scuffling against the boureen as you sing and shout to the sky and wait for an answer that never comes and you’re sure you’ll be going to hell with a wildflower in your lapel. ⧽ ━━ hey, isn’t that SEAMUS FINNIGAN? i read a daily prophet article on them, once ; the TWENTY FOUR year old half blood WIZARD is a GRYFFINDOR alumnus who has gone on to be a BAR MAN AT THE HOG’S HEAD. i’ve heard they can be quite GREGARIOUS & CONTRITE, but i don’t know… they came off very SKEPTICAL & STAND-OFFISH in that interview. it really is hard to know what to believe these days though, isn’t it? [ niamh, 18, bst, she/her ]
tw for mentions of violence and domestic violence under the cut !
BIO !
seamus was born on a rainy day in june, and was known by his mother as the noisiest baby in leitrim. she was on her own, and found herself content to be so, because she had all she needed: her baby boy and her freedom.
seamus was born towards the end of the troubles and right on the border of north and south. they lived in a small wizarding community, and they’d mainly gone untouched by the muggle conflict, using magic to conceal themselves but as tensions rose and a tentative end was in sight, nancy finnigan began to question their safety. once the ink on the treaties was dry, she hoped they could go back to living a quiet life, but the violence was far from over, so in the best interests of her child, she packed the pair of them up and moved out west to the country, as far away from the border as possible.
young seamus loved the green fields and the wide open spaces, and seeing as their closest neighbour was about a mile away, they didn’t have to especially hide their magic, and they settled down amongst the muggles easily enough. the real problem came when it was time for seamus to go to hogwarts. where they lived, your business wasn’t just yours for long, and soon everyone had an opinion on you, and those opinions mattered. nancy knew exactly what would be said about them when her son, raised in a republican community right on the border, went to boarding school in england
it took months of sulking and moaning, but nancy finally agreed and let seamus go, under the guise that he was staying with his father’s family in scotland.
( as far as everyone else was concerned, martin finnegan was dead, but the fact of the matter was, martin nearny battered his wife when he found out about her magic and left her, pregnant and alone. )
he thrived in hogwarts. he shook the hand of every person he met and told jokes at the dinner table and revelled in the fact that he was surrounded by so many people like him. unfortunately though, while his magic had been strong at home, it seemed to fall flat at hogwarts, and often led to disasterous results. that’s because, when teaching him spells when his magic fist showed, nancy taught him them in gaelic, just like she had been, and her parents had been. his professors were astounded by his ability to ruin any spell he tried, and became something of a lost cause. the issue wasn’t with his ability, only that the magic he’d been performing since he was six was in another language altogether, and while conforming to the incantations used at hogwarts, the spells got lost in translation, resulting in him more often than not setting everything around him, and mainly himself, on fire.
he realised quickly that hogwarts was a dangerous place to be. his mother knew this too, and her anxieties were projected onto him, and he found himself taking far too much stock in the opinions of his mother and the daily prophet. now he recognises the guilt: she’d taken him away from one dangerous place and then, in her mind, shipped him off to another one. by his sixth year, he was convinced he wasn’t going to go back, that he’d keep his head down with his mum at home, but with the news becoming more and more grave everyday, part of him was giving into the calling to protect the wizarding world from dark magic.
his mind was made up for him, though, when voldemort made school compulsory for purebloods and halfbloods. while he knew deep down he’d always come back and fight, he ached for home. broken and bruised by the hands of the carrows, lying in the room of requirement at night with the other members of dumbledore’s army, he’d pull the sheets up over his head and mumble spells in gaelic, rubbing the claddagh ring on his finger as he felt his magic swell around him and prayed his mother was doing okay.
she found him, after the final battle, sitting amongst the rubble, and as soon as her arms closed around him he cried for hours or maybe days. he’d made it out, just barely, but he wasn’t a boy any more. he’d seen and done too much to be a boy any more, and he cried for the adolescence that was cut short and the friends he’d lost that should’ve grown old. he stayed dry eyed at all of the burials.
he stayed to help clean up and then he went home, but for the first time in his life, the silence was deafening and the space was suffocating. he needed noise and crowds and signs of life. after a difficult conversation and his eighteenth birthday, he moved to hogsmeade. he felt the urge to be close to hogwarts, to see the rebuilt castle and new students in the village, just to confirm to himself that it was all over, that it happened and that it was done with. he took rooms at the hogs head and then one day found himself working there and never looked back.
he’s the closest to content he thinks he’ll ever be. he’s pulling pints and cracking jokes and screaming through the nightmares but he gets by, and when the neighbours at home ask nancy how her boy’s doing living with his father’s family she smiles and tells them he’s doing just fine.
Shh! You’ll scare Clive! Who’s Clive? Clive. Clive is a wee Prod from East Belfast. Clive came back from Ibiza, got on the wrong bus at Aldergrove Airport, then fell asleep. Clive woke up in Derry, surrounded by Russians and Fenians. Clive is absolutely shitting himself. So where’s the real Artem? Giant’s Causeway, probably. Foreigners fucking love the Giant’s Causeway.
