Tempest, a harry potter fanfic

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

This was my entry for the 2013 Interhouse Fest (interhouse-fest . livejournal . com). The fest is over and reveals are out, so I can post this for you here. This fanfic is a one-shot and there is no continuation of the story planned - it's complete as-is.

Here was the prompt I worked from:

Prompt: 'The Thunder Rolls' by Garth Brooks - pairing: Cormac x Pansy

What a great prompt this was! I had so much fun trying this pairing out for the first time. Thank you to whoever put forth this prompt for the fest!

Thank you to my beta, Ladysashi – you're a super shining star! Thank you to the Mods for continuing this wonderful tradition – here's to many more years of good Interhouse fun to come!

Please review!

DISCLAIMER: "Harry Potter" is the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This fanfiction was written entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended. "The Thunder Rolls" is copyright Garth Brooks & Pat Alger/Capitol Nashville, 1989.

TIMELINE: Post-Hogwarts

MAIN CHARACTERS FEATURED (alphabetical order, last name): Cormac McLaggen, Pansy Parkinson-McLaggen

SUMMARY: She waits for him to come back home, praying it's the weather that's kept him out all night...

RATING: PG-15

WARNINGS: Implied infidelity (off-screen), Sad Ending

TEMPEST

By: RZZMG

Pansy rubbed her distended belly with nervous anticipation as she paced up and back between the hearth and the far wall in the living room.

Where was her husband? The wireless network had reported that the Quidditch game had ended hours ago, with the Cannons the victors. Celebratory drinks at the pub afterwards wouldn't take this long, would they?

The weather report had predicted a storm coming in from the north. What if he got caught out in it? How would he get home? He would be able to safely ride a broom with the wind, the Floo was notoriously foul-tempered during bad environmental conditions, they lived in a neighbourhood that contained Muggles, so Apparition was disallowed (and the nearest Apparition point was some mile or so away on foot), and the Knight Bus was always a gamble with one's personal safety. Being stuck out all night in one of the filthy, flea-ridden pubs Cor's chummies usually dragged him to post-game was just about as dangerous as trying to get home; one never knew what sorts of diseases one might pick up in places like that.

It was time she took a more active role in locating her man.

She Floo-called her ex, Ron Weasley to find out if he could offer a guess as to where his teammate might be at this hour. "Er, sorry, Pans. I've no idea," Ron admitted, his voice echoing down the long connection between his home in Surrey and hers in London. "I came straight home after the game to... er, celebrate with 'Mione."

Pansy wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Please, I don't need to hear about you shagging your wife into the floor, Ronald." It did, after all, still sting a teensy, tiny bit that the man she'd at one time been head over heels in love with had tossed her over to marry his Mudblood sweetheart. "If you happen to hear from Cor-"

"I'll send him straight home, yeah," Ron promised, understanding the unspoken request. "Mate probably just had one too many pints at the pub with the rest of the team, and is sobering up now. I'm sure he'll be home soon."

The doubt in Ron's tone carried clear through the pipe; even he wasn't buying his version of the tale. Yet, her ex was nothing if not kind. His attempts to cheer her and keep her optimistic were very Hufflepuff, but she appreciated them nonetheless. It was one of the reasons she kept in contact with him. They may not be together anymore, and she may not love him any longer, but they were still friends. These days, Pansy was in short supply of such things, especially after she'd cut off all of her former Housemates years prior, so she counted Ron a lucky keep.

She shut off the Floo-call with a 'thank you' and promises to 'see you both at the St. Patrick's Festival in a few weeks – if the sprog doesn't pop by then'. After that, an uncomfortable silence reigned once more inside the maisonette, like the stillness that came before a storm. It made Pansy edgy, and she took to drifting from room to room, assuring everything was in its proper place and free of dust.

At ten o'clock, after she'd traversed the whole of the house, she made herself a cup of herbal tea to soothe her nerves and to calm her baby's kicking. The little tyke was a strapping lad, like his father, and it was clear he wanted to come out to greet the world soon. Honestly, Pansy couldn't wait for that to happen; she was tired of being so fat, moody, oversexed, ill, and physically exhausted all the time. She wanted her body back and good, hard sex with her husband again, as it had been at the beginning of their relationship. She wanted to meet her son at long last.

"I bet you'll have black, curly hair and blue-green eyes, that you'll be tall and thin, but broad-shouldered, and you'll be a wiz on a broom and at Charms," she predicted rubbing over her tummy. "A handsome combination of your parents, I've no doubt." Glancing out the wide, front window of her home, she sighed when she didn't spy any sign that her husband was on his way. Would sending an Owl ahead, just to give her a heads-up as to what was going on with him, too much to ask? "Although, you may never meet your Papa, if he doesn't get home soon," she growled, petting her belly. "Your Mama may just hex him to bits if he doesn't get home soon."

Truly, there were times her husband's inconsiderate ways irritated her, especially when she was feeling a little cranky and tired, like now. Would it kill him to decline having drinks with his mates just one time after a game? Why did Cor always have to stay out so late? Why couldn't he have simply come home to do some private celebrating with her, like Ron had with his wife?

Just thinking of her ex stirred memories best left buried, but Pansy's very nature was to poke at snakes with sticks, especially when she was feeling a bit surly and down, like now…

~.~.~.~

It was the irony of all ironies that Ronald Weasley, the biggest blood-traitor of them all, had been the love of Pansy Parkinson's young adult life. Or so she'd believed at the time.

Post-war, they'd tripped all over each other again when the Wizengamot had thought it an apt punishment to assign Pansy to work in the Weasley joke shop in Diagon Alley as part of her community service sentence. Beginning the August after the Dark Lord's demise, every weekend, she'd had to put up with Ron Weasley bossing her around. He worked in the store with his big brother, George, who was recovering from having lost his twin in the war (the rumour was he was a bit suicidal, and Ron was there to watch over him). At first, she'd wanted to punch her new supervisor in his long-nosed, freckled face for his bullying, but soon, she'd realised how much she'd actually enjoyed his dominant nature and the way he would growl at her whenever she'd smart-mouth him back, as it reminded her a bit of her past (long over) relationship with Draco.

By that same Christmas, sparks were flying between her and Weasley, but he'd been dating Granger then and had kept his distance, careful never to be alone with her for too long. After a riotous holiday party at the shop, where the spiked eggnog had flowed a bit too freely and she and Ron had kissed under the mistletoe as a result, he'd left W.W.W. to chase after Potter's dreams of being an Auror… and to run from the undeniable attraction between him and Pansy.

To her surprise, that next May, Ron had returned to the shop for a visit one Saturday evening. He'd been gone for five months, but the draw to each other was still evident and undeniable. Encouraging his brother to go home and relax, he'd stayed to help her close up, all the while tossing her some heated glances that couldn't be ignored. After George had left, Ron had locked the door, drawn the shades, and then he'd proceeded to stalk her through the store. She'd run, he'd given chase… and then she'd let him catch her on the third floor landing.

Their affair that first time had been short-lived: just that stolen night at the shop. Ron went back to Auror training after that, and continued to see Granger. Pansy had been a bit heartbroken, but she'd recovered quickly. After all, it had just been sex to relieve the need.

By that next Christmas, however, Ron was back in her life – sans the bushy-haired swot. They'd broken up at Ron's instigation, and he'd pursued Pansy. Their second kiss under the mistletoe had cemented her fate.

For ten glorious months, Ron had been all hers, and Pansy had fallen so fast and so far, that she'd been willing to turn her back on her parents, to cut her friends, and to destroy her social connections in pure-blood society just to be with him. She'd truly thought that one day, he'd make it official between them.

Then Hermione Granger dropped her boyfriend of eight months, Theodore Nott, like an old, useless Sickle… and Ron had left Pansy once more, hoping to rekindle things with his ex. They'd gotten back together that same night he'd broken Pansy's heart in two.

In retaliation, Pansy had begun flirting with Cormac McLaggen, who frequented the joke shop to buy gifts for his teammates. McLaggen was the one man Ron had always professed to detest more than splattergoit. That the two were mates on the same Quidditch team–McLaggen as Chaser, Ron as Keeper–certainly hadn't bridged any gaps or mended any fences between the two men, either. So, she'd thought it would get Ron's goat to see her on McLaggen's arm at various Ministry events, where he was always invited. What she'd hoped to accomplish with such a ridiculous gamble had not paid off, however; Ron had remained unfazed by her interest in his teammate. Cormac, however, had taken their flirtations seriously. He'd asked her to marry him five months after their first date.

In retrospect, she could have said 'no' to the proposal. She should have walked away from Cormac, realising her scheme had backfired. She didn't do either of those things. Instead, after gate-crashing Ron's wedding, watching the man she'd still loved bind himself for life to someone she both envied and despised, she'd gone home and agreed to Cormac's marriage proposal. A month later, they'd eloped in the south of France and she'd unintentionally gotten pregnant on her honeymoon.

In her naiveté, for months after, Pansy had continued to hold on the hope that someday Ron would change his mind; that despite their marriages and her pregnancy, they'd get back together. It had taken the announcement that the 'Golden Couple' (as the papers called Ron and Hermione Weasley) were expecting their first child for her to really come to terms with the fact that she and her ex were really over and done, that Ron truly did love Hermione Granger, and that he was not the type to want to raise a baby not his own, much less share custody of said child with another man. Their ship had sailed and was never coming back from that horizon.

That had been the day Pansy had decided to let Ron go and to focus on the good things in her life: the growing baby in her womb and her husband at home. Over the last few months, she'd come to accept and even love her new life… That didn't mean, however, that she wanted to have images of Ron shagging someone else in her head, especially that irritating wife of his.

Still, the past was over and done, and she wasn't one to hold on any longer than necessary. Besides, she was finally content with her life.

Her baby booted her ribs. "Shhh, Papa will be home soon," she cooed to her little boy. "He's just celebrating his victory win against the Wasps."

A violent, ominous rumble of thunder chased a flash behind a bank of clouds. The storm in the distance was definitely rolling in, and the smell of approaching rain, heavy with dirt and foul Muggle chemicals, grew stronger to Pansy's sensitive nostrils. Her sense of smell had become keener as her pregnancy had progressed, and at times, she considered it a curse, as strong odours tended to send her scurrying for the porcelain bowl.

"You'd better come out soon," she gently chided her baby, "and healthy. Your father's expecting you to be on a broom and chasing a Snitch by the time you hit four, and I... I would just like to see my feet again."

She sighed and turned to take a seat in her grandmother's rocking chair. The antique had originally been part of her dowry, and was the only furniture Pansy had taken with her from her ancestral home when she'd left there for good after her elopement. Comforting and Warming Charms had been inlaid into the chair's sturdy wood, so the moment she leaned back into its frame, Pansy's backache dissipated and her mood vastly improved.

Cormac would walk through the door any minute now, she just knew it. There was absolutely nothing to be worried about. He was simply delayed by the inclement weather.

~.~.~.~

The mantle clock struck half past three, waking Pansy from her doze. Rubbing the woolly from her eyes, she noted the time, and hobbled to her feet. Outside, the wind was viciously blowing and rain sleeted against the window panes. Thunder rumbled, and in the distance, lightning flashed again.

"Cormac?"

Calling for her husband, she moved through the house, searching for a sign that he might have come home, seen her sleeping in her favourite chair, and gone up to their bed without disturbing her. She'd just made it to the kitchen when the front door was unlocked.

Moving towards the foyer, she called for her husband again. He didn't answer. Wand in hand, she carefully approached, unsure if it was a stranger invading her home or not.

She rounded the corner and let out a relieved breath, dropping her wand arm. Her husband had come home at long last. Cormac's Quidditch uniform was rumpled, though, and he carried the leather gloves and shin pads in hand, along with his broom. Clearly, he was sober, although even from the distance, he had the smell about him of a man who'd indulged in his cups.

Relieved that her husband was safe, Pansy trundled up to him and hugged him from behind as he placed his accessories in the front closet. "I was so worried," she admitted. "Why didn't you at least Floo-call?"

He didn't turn to face her. He didn't say anything, in fact.

"Cor? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said, brusque, shrugging her off and shutting the closet door. "I'm just tired and want to sleep." He turned towards the stairs.

Sensing something was off Pansy dropped her wand and grabbed one burly arm with both hands, stopping Cormac short. "Why were you out so late? You couldn't have even Owl'd me?"

He kept his gaze straight ahead, refusing to look at her. "Didn't know you cared where I went or what I did, so long as the money keeps rolling in."

His words were like a hammer blow to Pansy's skull. She let him go, stepping back, shocked to her toes by his accusation. "What?"

Her husband sighed in resignation. "Come on, Pansy, you can keep up the act of the doting wife when we're at parties. I don't mind that. But at least show me a little respect and don't lie to me when we're home alone," he stated, cynical and a touch angry. "You married me because I'm pure-blood, for my family's deep vaults, and to get over Weasley. Don't pretend to care beyond that."

Her hands shook and she rubbed them over her belly again, distressed at what he'd said. Sure, she had married him exactly for those reasons, but things had changed since she'd fallen in love with their baby and with his father.

No, she may have never said the words aloud, but she tried to tell him in small ways every day how she honoured him, in the traditional ways of a pure-blood wife: she assured his meals were all delicious feasts and served on time, and that his house-elves performed their cleaning duties to the best of their abilities, and that his clothes were washed, dried, and pressed as he liked. She also corresponded with his parents, assured his social obligations outside of Quidditch matches were met, and that his publicist was kept up to date on all of his most stunning achievements to buy him some good press. He hadn't asked her to perform her duties in the bedroom for the last few months, true, but she had never denied him access to her, if he'd wished. Essentially, she took care of Cormac and his homes and holdings – which is what she'd been taught from an early age was the responsibility of a good wife. How could he not see what all of that effort amounted to?

"I care," she whispered, her heart pounding away in her chest, chasing a fast-blooming ache. "It may not have started out that way, but-"

He made a slicing motion through the air with his arm. "Don't. We both know you're still in love with your ex, and that all of this-" He waved to indicate the house around them, as well as their life as a whole. "-is nothing more than your very own 'dog and pony show' to make up for the fact that you were disowned by your family for eloping with me, and abandoned by your friends who you kicked to the kerb years ago. You keep it all perfect, and buy expensive furnishings and clothing just to stick it to them, not because you care about me or our family."

Shaking her head in vigorous denial, she cried out, "It's not like that! I'm not in love with Ron anymore! I haven't been for a long time. As for the rest – it was my duty to care for you and for your things. Don't you understand? I'm pure-blood. This is what I was raised to do, and what I promised when we married. This is how I show you I love you!"

Cormac whirled on her, his fury evident in the set of his shoulders, the darkness in his expression, and the snarl that emitted from his lips. "Lies! That's all this relationship has ever been, Pansy. One big, filthy lie! You don't care a whit about me. The only thing you want from me is material comfort and some social respectability. The baby and I are just a means to that end for you, and we both know it!"

Pansy took a deep breath in through her nose, trying to calm her rioting emotions so she could approach the discussion without shouting... and was knocked for a six by the strange, sweet scent of something floral, with an undercurrent of sexual musk wafting in the air between her and her husband. It was a wholly feminine scent.

A terrible suspicion hit her then, and she looked closer at Cormac – at every crease in his uniform, at the way his bottom lip looked a bit too plump, as if it had been bitten and kissed too hard, and at the guilt reflected in his blood-shot, tired gaze.

The metaphorical kick to her gut was harder than any her son could have doled out.

"You were with another woman."

Her husband tossed her a bitter, unhappy smirk. "It's not as if you really want me, so why shouldn't I find some companionship outside of this loveless marriage?"

A hole opened up deep inside her and her heart sank through it, heading down, down, down past her varicose veins and swollen ankles, through the soles of her feet, and melting into the fibres of the solid wood flooring under her heels.

Loveless marriage.

"Oh, God," she whispered, struggling for breath. How could this be happening? How could he admit to infidelity as casually as one would talk about the weather?

Loveless marriage.

This was karma come back to bite her, wasn't it? She'd taken Ron from Granger all those years ago, and now some other woman had done the same thing to her.

Loveless marriage.

"I… see."

Her throat went tight as she removed her wedding band for the first time since it had been placed upon her finger, pulling it over her swollen knuckle with a bit of a struggle and setting it on a side table near the door. Everything blurred before her eyes, as for the first time in their relationship, she allowed herself to express the tears she'd always held back in his presence.

Cormac's resentment bled away the moment the first tears dripped down her cheeks, astonishment and a dawning understanding taking its place.

Anguished beyond words, Pansy walked past him and into the living room, her broken heart clogging her throat. She was desperate to reach her favourite chair, before her knees gave out. Yet, even as she sat in the well-crafted, enchanted wooden seat, cradling her whale-like hump of a tummy, no Charm could ease her pain.

Dropping her face into her hands, she sobbed in despair, while outside the window, the storm continued, whipping up into a fine fury.

Three-thirty in the morning,
not a soul in sight.
The city's lookin' like a ghost town
on a moonless summer night.
Raindrops on the windshield...
There's a storm moving in.
He's headin' back from somewhere
that he never should have been.

And the thunder rolls...
And the thunder rolls.

Every light is burnin'
in a house across town.
She's pacin' by the telephone
in her faded flannel gown,
askin' for miracle,
hopin' she's not right.
Prayin' it's the weather
that's kept him out all night.

And the thunder rolls...
And the thunder rolls.

The thunder rolls,
and the lightnin' strikes.
Another love grows cold
on a sleepless night.
As the storm blows on
out of control,
deep in her heart
the thunder rolls.

She's waitin' by the window
as he pulls into the drive.
She rushes out to hold him,
thankful he's alive.
But on the wind and rain
a strange new perfume blows...
and the lightnin' flashes in her eyes,
and he knows that she knows.

And the thunder rolls...
And the thunder rolls.

- "The Thunder Rolls" by Garth Brooks

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

Please review!