Author's note: this is my first Harry Potter fic, as well as my first attempt to write an Irish accent, so please try to excuse any minor inaccuracies associated with either.
When Barb and Andrew Finnigan were married, Andrew wished he could say that it was the happiest day of his life. He stood with Barb on the balcony of their hotel room in Italy, a view that would have been scenic had it not been for the damned parking lot. That was when Barb told him about her family, and about being a witch. Andrew consequently fell off of said balcony, and despite all of Barb's memory restoration charms, he now can't remember much of that day, asides from getting cake across his tuxedo, and the information leading to his concussion. ("Well, at least I got the stitch charm right! You wouldn' believe what happen' to me dorm-mate's boyfrien' when 'e fell doon some stairs! He almust died thanks ta thit!")
On the morning of his son's eleventh birthday, Andrew got quite a shock to find a large grey owl, with a foreboding beak clutching a letter between its talons. Barb, of course, greeted this phenomenon with glee. "Our boy," she mused, "e's gonna be exceptional, a brill'ant young wizard. E's such a smart lad..." Andrew, had his doubts that Seamus would become successful in any learned trait, given his attention span, but for Barb's sake he nodded and smiled and hoped his sister wouldn't about why little Riley didn't see his cousin at St. Brendan's.
Andrew had met Dean Thomas several times before. It was only ever a quick acknowledgement, as Seamus would wish him a good summer and be off. Barb liked him instantly, but Barb likes everyone instantly. ("E's a nice boy. Very polite, you can tell that he's one o' those sensitive artisty types.")
Dean was a good boy, Andrew agreed, he was almost on time when he was staying with them this summer. ("Of course, e's gonna be a wee bit late. His parents are muggles, so they're gonna be takin' muggle train. And you know how the English mess their trains up!") He was happy staying on their couch; he made an effort to avoid conflict. ("I love Shay, but somedeys I jist wish e'd be a little more like 'im.")
Barb isn't a morning person, she tries to be cheery whenever she can, but she'd rather be sleeping most days. Of course, when she came bounding into their bedroom, like a child waking her parents up to go open Christmas presents, before the sun was even thinking about getting up, Andrew was taken back.
"Andy," she squealed as she pulled on the sleeves of his pyjama top "Git up, Andy, you gotta see this." Groggily, Andrew reluctantly rose, and Barb continued to lead him by the sleeve.
"I got up, to use the loo," she whispered outside of Seamus's room "and I didn' see Dean oon the couch, so ah peeked intae Shay's room," she grinned "Just lookit!"
They slowly cracked open the door and Andrew could feel his eyebrows raise with every micrometer it moved. On top of a comforter his Nan had knitted; lay Seamus, his forehead leaning on Dean's back, with an arm wrapped protectively around the other boy. Andrew wasn't sure whether he could believe his eyes, or if this was a side-effect of one of Barb's failed memory charms.
"Isn't it precious," murmured Barb, "they look so comfy toget'er."
And even though Andrew isn't sure of the reality of this scene, he can see his son smile in his sleep. He knows that he's happy, and he shouldn't be shocked about that