The structure is modest even by the standards of vernacular Atlantic island housing, measuring roughly 6.5 metres long and 4 metres wide, with walls that survive in places to no more than 70 centimetres. What makes the site quietly arresting is not what stands but what surrounds it: an extensive spread of shells to the northwest and south, and just 11.5 metres away to the south, a midden, the compacted refuse heap of discarded shellfish, bone, and domestic waste that generations of coastal communities left behind. Middens are among the most information-rich deposits an archaeologist can encounter, accumulating layer by layer over years or centuries of habitation.

When the site was first recorded in 1984, the house outline was visible as boulders sitting on the surface of the sand, accompanied by the remains of outhouses and an associated stone wall to the east and north. A gap of 1.2 metres in the north wall indicated where the doorway once stood, a detail that anchors the ruin as a real inhabited space rather than an abstracted set of measurements. On a revisit thirty years later, in April 2014, intermittent walling, some of it earthfast, some loose, was still present, the stones neither entirely claimed by the ground nor standing with any confidence above it. Some 150 metres to the south lies a comparable house site, suggesting that whatever community made use of Fínis, it was not a solitary household. The date of occupation remains undetermined, which in itself is telling: island sites like this can be frustratingly difficult to assign to a period without excavation, and Fínis has not yet given up that particular answer.