Disclaimer: Maybe I own Harry Potter in some parallel universe, but not in this world.
Dedication: Dedicated my friend Kollie who loves Seamus very much! And Oliver Wood. And Fred Weasley. And Percy Weasley. Do you know how hard it is to find them, wrap them up and put them under her Christmas tree?
Within his first month at Hogwarts, Seamus Finnigan was quite famous. Not Harry Potter famous, but people knew who he was.
He was the boy who could make every little thing blow up.
It had only happened three times… or maybe four… okay five times! The first time he had been trying to turn some tea into rum. Stupid transfiguration assignment. Besides, why did they have to turn it into rum? It probably tasted very, very bad. Maybe even worse than broccoli and he was 11 years old. Maybe McGonagall needed it. Maybe she had bad nerves. Yeah, that was probably it. It would also explain why she was so stern all the time. She was trying to cover up her future mental breakdown.
Second time had been a complete accident. Fred Weasley had given him some fireworks and he had put it in his bag and then forgotten all about it. In Charms a stray spell had hit his bag and made the firework explode. The sound made Professor Flitwick fall down from his booktower, which broke his nose. He had gotten detention for a week, plus all of his books were ruined. Needless to say his mom was not very happy.
The last three times all happened in Potions class. It was, by far, his worst subject. He could make even the simplest potions explode in his face. Although he was not as bad as Neville who only excelled in one thing: Making cauldrons melt. That had happened twice within their first month! And Snape turned nastier and nastier with each explosion and melted cauldron. And so, Seamus and Neville got to spent a lot of time together in detention, cutting up this, crushing that, throwing up (Just to be clear, that was Neville)
Through all of his school time he was the boy who made everything explode. Not that he minded. He kinda liked the explosions and the fire. And when McGonagall years later said he had a "particular proclivity of pyrotechnics" he could only smile.
It was time to make the place blow!