Characters: Delilah Finnigan and Michael Finnigan.
Notes: Exactly how Delilah Finnigan told her husband she was a witch, and exactly how Michael Finnigan took it. I hope you enjoy!
"Honey, I'm home!"
Michael Finnigan was a tall man with curly, greying brown hair and an easy, open smile. He still had the old London lilt in his accent, despite their already three year stay in Northern Ireland, the home country of his wife. Delilah Finnigan was a beautiful, mysterious Irish woman who never hesitated to berate her husband.
"Honestly, Michael, can you not control ya clichés f'just one day?"
"Ah, but where would be the fun in that, my love?" Michael placed his jacket over the kitchen chair and raised an eyebrow at his wife. He worked in an old office for the Department of Health - it didn't pay the best money, but the job was interesting and he was up for a new promotion. If he could get that, then...
"Michael?" He snapped out of his trance, and flashed a smile.
"Away with the fairies, as always," Michael told her reassuringly. He looked at the dark shadows under Delilah's eyes and his brow furrowed in worry and confusion. "Are you alright, Del?"
"I have something to tell you," Delilah said, pulling out a chair and sitting down in it with the air of a woman with the world on her shoulders. "I... think you'll want to sit down for this. Seamus is at his friend's house for tonight, which I think is best."
"Best for what?"
"Darlin', I think you'll need t'sit down for this," Delilah spoke softly. Michael lowered himself into the chair opposite.
"Del, you're scaring me," he told her, running his fingers through his hair.
"I think it'd be better if I showed ya rather than told ya," she muttered. She reached into her sleeve - something Michael instantly found odd - and pulled a stick out. He stared at it, and burst into steady laughter. He wiped tears from his eyes, and rocked back on his chair.
"Are you going to turn me into a frog, Del?" He gasped through his chuckles. "Oh, and here I thought you were leaving me..."
"Michael, this is serious."
His laughter drained away. He looked into her eyes - blue - and over her pale cheeks with clusters of light, Irish freckles. He nodded, and took one of her hands, the one not holding the stick, in his.
"I think... yes," Delilah nodded to herself, and in one fluid motion, knocked the china teapot off of the kitchen table where it shattered onto the floor. Michael gasped, and looked down at the teapot - it had been his favourite.
"Reparo," his wife said, and with a wave of the stick, the china teapot sat whole on the tiled floor. Poor Michael thought he was in shock.
"You- you-" He stuttered. Delilah looked perfectly terrified, and she placed the offending brown object down on the kitchen table, where red sparkles idly floated from the tip. "Where was that stick when I broke your mother's painting and I had to sleep on the couch?"
"I mean, all the times...! When I had to fix the chair leg by hand, when the barn went up in flames, that one time I almost drowned in the sink because of the leak-"
"Michael, that's not all I can do. I'm a witch." There was an awkward pause. "I went to a magical school, where I learnt how to perform spells, like Reparo and Wingardium Leviosa and Accio and - and I'm gettin' ahead of meself. Are ya alright? Should I phone a... a doctor, or somebody?"
"Sorry, did you say witch?" Delilah winced. "I mean, do you have a cauldron? And a pointy hat?"
"Um..." She hastily looked left, then right, then focused on a place just above Michael's left shoulder rather than meeting his eyes. "Yes?"
"Can you turn people into frogs?" Michael asked, still holding Delilah's hand, an eager expression on his face. His wife gave him a weird look.
"... Yes, with the righ' Transfiguration spell, I suppose..."
"It all kind of makes sense now," Michael said, nodding his head, and counting things off on his fingers, "the way you avoid the telephone, your reluctance to get in a car, making me cook-" He pulled a face that Delilah had to laugh at. "You were brought up a witch, weren't you?" Her laughter stopped.
"I was. Me dad is a wizard and me mam's a witch."
"Really?" Michael asked, his eyes widening. Delilah twitched in her seat. "I mean, your dad, sure, he has the bear 'n' all, but Louise? A witch? I'd never believe it."
"Michael... are... are ya sure you're alright' with this?" Delilah asked, looking at her husband oddly.
"What else can you do?" Michael wondered. "Oh! Can you disappear? Like, in a puff of purple smoke?" Delilah questioned, not for the first time, why on earth she had married a five year old, and why on earth it was even legal.
"I can Disapparate," she said carefully. "But there's no puff o' purple smoke. Mainly just a pop." She paused. "Do you want me to show ya?"
Michael nodded, and then Delilah Disapparated to a spot just at the bottom of the stairs with, as she said, a pop. Her poor, Muggle husband stared at her as though she had grown two heads.
Now that, she thought, probably would've been a lot easier to explain.
"Tell me what else!" Michael said eagerly, grasping her hand again and slightly shaking it. "I want to know everything. Where do you buy all the cauldrons and that? Where do you buy wands? Can I get a wand? Actually, on second thoughts, I might just kill someone with a wand... can Seamus get a wand? I mean, he's a bright young kid and I'm sure he can learn..." He trailed off at the look on Delilah's face. "What?"
"Well, I'm a witch." Michael nodded. "You're not a wizard." Michael nodded again. "You're what we call a Muggle." Michael frowned. "Seamus... is not a Muggle." Michael frowned again. "Seamus is not a witch." Michael frowned harder. "Therefore, my conclusion states tha'..." She motioned for Michael to continue.
"Seamus is a wizard?" Delilah nodded.
"Oh my..." He said. "I think I need to sit down." Michael wavered a bit in his chair, which Delilah looked pointedly down at. "Oh. Are you sure though? About Seamus?"
"Positive, dear," she said wearily. "I found him playing with a ball yesterday. The ball then - er - exploded." Her husband's eyes widened comically, and she quickly patted his hand. "I took care of it, it won't happen again. It was just his first sign of accidental magic."
"First sign? There are more signs?"
"We'll be fine, Michael." Delilah looked at him sideways. "If... if ya want ta be, tha' is."
"Of course!" He cried, and, standing up, he wrapped her up in an embrace, and squeezed lightly. She smiled. "Now, d'you think you can fix the chair leg, because it's been staring at me for days, I swear..."
Delilah gave a watery laugh, more out of relief than anything, and slapped her husband on the arm. "You, Michael Finnigan, are the bane of my existence. Soon, I'll have to be the proper witch and turn you into a frog!" She had her hands on her hips and was tapping her foot nosily. Her wand sparked on the kitchen table.
Michael gulped, and said, "Ribbet."