When Seamus left the pub that evening, he'd been pretty much ready to get to bed. Bletchley was just plain exhausting the way he ordered him to do just about everything in the pub. Asshat.
A couple minutes into his walk home, he realised that he'd passed the same flier about four times. At the fifth one he finally stopped, grinning as he read over what it said.
He quickened his pace back to the house, and once inside headed up to his flat quietly (as the 'not-ill' occupants of the house were prone to yelling when they heard loud noises). He grabbed a parchment and quill, smirking as he sat down to write.
Neville and Ginny-
Congratulations, guys. I'm happy for you.
Nev: You deserve it, mate. Just mind you don't piss her off too much. She'll hex you, then give you a drink, and then make you feel even worse by drinking you under the table. Believe me. I speak from experience.
Gin: Be nice to him. Or I'll pull your hair and call you Ginevra.