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Seamus Finnigan (openbottle) wrote in finnigans_rpg,

"Good Irish whiskey all the way," Seamus confirmed. The original recipe had called for Sailor Jerry and some American whiskey Seamus had never heard of - he'd switched out both for his and Dean's preferred brands. Dean drank so rarely that when he did, he deserved the good stuff. "If you make it with Scotch you have to think of something else to call it." He wasn't great at puns, and he didn't really bother when he made Ginny's drinks, but he'd actually been quite pleased with 'Dean Spirt'. He watched Dean set the frame aside, sucking in a breath as he tried to mentally prepare himself for the next present. It suddenly felt like too much - too intimate - almost an imposition, but without it he'd basically got Dean a piece of paper and a hat. "Turns out Gringotts employs scribes," he said with a shrug. "Who knew, right?" It made sense if you thought about it, Seamus supposed, but he'd still be surprised to find one who was happy to take freelance work.

Knowing he couldn't wait any longer, he reached down for the next present. He held the long, thin parcel in his hand for a moment before handing it over. He knew this one was going to require some explanation, but didn't know where to begin. He watched as Dean unwrapped the spurtle and gave him an obviously uncomprehending look. The awkward silence while Seamus tried to find his words lasted for too long. "Mam's got one," he eventually blurted. "That she got from Nana, and maybe from her mam before that." It had simply always been around in Seamus's childhood - both in his own home and the homes of his maternal aunts. "It's called a spurtle. You use it to stir stuff. Tap it against a pot once for slow, twice for medium, three times for fast." Seamus picked at a developing hole in the knee of his jeans, looking anywhere but at Dean's face. "I thought -" God, his thought process seemed so hard to explain now. "Well. I thought you should have something. A magical... thing. What's the word?" Dean didn't have a magical family to inherit these things from. Seamus had wanted to get him a clock like the Weasleys had, one that would tell him where Seamus, Susan, Jess, Cat and his mam were. It had turned out too expensive, and Dominic couldn't do the clock work required. "Heirloom," he added, eventually lighting on the right word. "It's from a magical family. Not mine, I bought it, but I checked and they weren't Death Eaters or anything."

Never had Seamus felt so stupid about a present he'd given anyone. "I don't know," he mumbled. "Traditionally it's for porridge, but mam uses it for everything."