Author: Lash_Larue
Title: "Eventual Envelopment" Chapter One of 21

Pairing: Hermione/Pansy
Rating: PG13 - NC17

Summary: Hermione has had enough of everything, Pansy has had enough of everything except perhaps Hermione.

Warnings: Not much for this chapter, language, violence. Possible triggers later, warnings by chapter, please read them. This story is a sort of psychodrama with very dark elements of several sorts and the language and behaviour is sometimes coarse. Yes, this Hermione is OOC, but people do break.

Word Count: 4900

Disclaimer: These characters belong to JK Rowling

A/N: This story was written for a friend who asked if I might be interested in doing an HP fanfic inspired by the poem "Let It Enfold You" by Charles Bukowski. It's harsh, but ultimately hopeful, and I kicked the idea around for a while and discarded the obvious characters, Harry, Ron, Neville, a resurrected Snape, and then fell into this. It starts with the ending, never mind the chapter title. I'm afraid that it's not going to be a nice little smutfic, although it is going to have a deal of both smut and kink. This Hermione is going to be different from how I usually write her. Fed up, burned out, uncertain, and sometimes self-destructive. Pansy is in a similar place emotionally

"Eventual Envelopment"

Chapter One

"Genesis"

I feel it when she gets out of bed, I nearly always do. I pretend to be asleep; I nearly always do that too. I listen as she moves around the bedroom trying not to wake me, hear the quiet click as she eases the bathroom door shut. I lay there in the faint light of dawn, hearing the water in the sink, the faint rattle of the hanger on the back of the bathroom door as she takes down the clothes that she hung there the night before. I hear the muffled swearing when she loses her balance for a moment, the soft thump of her hand on the wall as she catches herself, and I smile.

She is my partner, my lover, my life, and this is my favorite time of the day. It is perhaps my favorite part of life, better than food, better than drink, better in some ways than sex, even with her, and sex with her makes me hear angels singing.

I steady my breathing and keep my eyes naturally closed when I hear the door open softly. I pull the sheet up over my mouth because today I cannot hide my smile as I hear her tiptoe around to my side of the bed.

I feel her staring at me, and imagine the look on her face as she watches me sleeping. It is a look full of love, and longing, and gratitude, and the promise of the future. I know it is, I can feel it, it is the look that is on my face when I watch her sleeping, and I can hear the rustle of her clothes as she bends over me, I feel the warmth of her breath, and then I feel the softness of her lips when she just barely presses them to my forehead.

I wait until I hear the bedroom door open and close before I wrap my arms around her pillow and bury my face in it, breathing in the scent of her.

It is my favorite part of the day, because it is the time that I know beyond all doubt that she loves me, really loves me, really wants to be with me. People, all of us, are full of shit. We try and show the people who are important to us for whatever reason, what they want to see. All of us do this, whether we admit it or not. It is what we do when no one can see us that reveals who we truly are, and what happens at this time of day is how I know that beyond all doubt, beyond all right or reason, that she loves me, and wants to be nowhere else on earth other than by my side, and that she believes in my love for her.

It was hard getting here, for both of us. I know all of my side of the story, and a fair bit of her side, but I don't know anybody at all who saw this coming; not this they didn't. None of them. Some of this is hearsay, some of it is doubtless inaccurate in one way or another, but in the main it is as correct as any real life story ever is.

My name is Pansy Parkinson, and this is my story.

This all takes place after the war. Yeah, that war, the one you all know about with he-who-yada, yada, yada, the miserable piece of shit, but this isn't about him. This is about us, and "us" started a few years after the war, in a conference room at the Ministry of Magic…

XXXXX

"Your proposals are interesting, Miss Granger, impractical of course, not really workable, but you are young yet. They do show a good deal of imagination and compassion, and I am sure we will all bear them in mind in future. However we must now attend to the present, don't you see?" the Minister for Magic declared.

"One step at the time, that's the way. Now then, here are the things you need to get done by the next meeting," the minister said as he slid an enormous pile of folders in front of her.

"No," Hermione said quietly but firmly, "you need it done; I don't need to do it."

"I beg your pardon?" the minister responded.

"Beg it all you like, you won't get it, none of you will," she said as she stood, shaking with anger. "You are all heading down the tracks to ruin and you are too stubborn, too smug, and too stupid to see it. Apparently I can't stop you, but I will be damned if I will stoke the boilers of this hell-bound train."

"Now see here young woman, you have been afforded an opportunity far beyond what someone of your years has ever been afforded before! You showed some ability in the war, and in consequence have been given a prestigious place in the ministry! Is this how you show your gratitude?" the Minister blustered.

"Balderdash. I have been given the opportunity, at entry-level wage, to muck out the place after decades of wrong-headed policy, ignorance, prejudice, and outright corruption; all to keep you pathetic fools in power," she said tightly.

"Now see here-" began an Elder.

"Shut up. Now I know why Shacklebolt quit, you seek nothing but your own security, and I'm not going to help you any longer. If you think that tearing down the statue that Riddle had put in the lobby and replacing the original "Magical Brotherhood" one is helping you're even stupider than you look, and that would be difficult. At least Riddle's version was honest in its intentions, and if you think that the Elves, Goblins, Centaurs, Veela, and the other sentient races are going to meekly return to status quo antebellum you are in for an extremely rude awakening," she told them flatly. She stood and swept her gaze over all of them.

"Piss off, all of you; I have better things to do. I may come back and help pick up the pieces, but then again I may not."

"So, you know best then, is that it? Why should we believe that?"

"Because I am even smarter than you think I am, and I listen to people and base my recommendations on what is, and not on what I wish for."

Hermione Granger headed for the door.

"I have not dismissed you, young woman," sputtered the minister.

"Try and stop me then. You know me, I love teaching."

They did know her, and none of them tried to stop her.

Hermione had gone straight to Grimmauld Place, where she lived with Harry, Ron, and Ginny. Harry and Ron were aurors, and Ginny was playing Quidditch and Harry.

She plopped down on a sofa in the sitting room and accepted Kreacher's offer of a drink. Kreacher had quite gotten over his prejudice against mudbloods, at least as far as Hermione went, and nearly worshipped her.

"Forgive Kreacher, but Mistress seems upset," he ventured tentatively as he handed her a Brandy Alexander.

"I am, Kreacher, my friend," she sighed, and she took a long swallow. "This is great, you'd make a fortune as a bartender," she told him.

"Thank you, Mistress Hermione, but may Kreacher ask…"

"I've quit the Min, Kreacher. The fools refuse to see reason. I'm sorry, I have failed you all."

"Never, Mistress, you are the only one who ever really tried. We shan't forget that," he promised.

"You can't trust them, Kreacher. Tell the others that from me. You can't trust the humans," she said as she drained the glass.

"We can trust you, Mistress Hermione, and we does. Shall I fix you another?"

"Yes, thank you, Kreacher. Just keep them coming, will you?" Kreacher grinned and nodded.

"What's this about you telling off the Minister for Magic and stomping out?" Ron demanded as he swept into the sitting room.

"That sounds about right," Hermione answered, "would you like a Brandy Alexander? Kreacher is a wizard with them." She snorted at the irony.

"Listen, we can fix this, all you have to do is apologize. Everyone knows you've been under a lot of stress and, well, I'm sure they'll make allowances," Ron said earnestly.

"Allowances? They're wrong, Ron."

"Maybe, but if you'd just-"

"Maybe? Are you really taking their side in this?" she asked quietly.

"No! Well, yes, I mean, it's the Minister, and-"

"Have you forgotten how the ministry hurt us during the war? How they made things harder for all of us?"

"No, but it's different now, and-"

"It is not different, Ron, not really. The only difference is that now you're inside the ministry. That's the only difference," she told him.

"Maybe that's enough for me, at least for now," he muttered.

"Well it's not enough for me, and it never will be," she countered.

"Please, Hermione, for me, for us, please, just apologize," he pleaded.

"No. We all risked death for what we thought was right, Ron. Right doesn't change just because wrong doesn't wear the face of a snake just now."

"This is our future we're talking about, Hermione," he reminded her.

"It's more than just our future, Ron. You used to trust me, but now that you've got a nice paycheck, that changes things, does it?"

"Maybe it does."

"Not for me. I'm done with the Min, I'm done with all of it, the fools who won't listen, won't change. I'm done," she said, and she waved her glass. Kreacher appeared instantly.

"Not too high and mighty to let Kreacher bring you your drinks though, are you? Thought you were all for elf rights and such."

"Have a care how you speaks to Mistress Hermione, Master Ron," Kreacher cautioned. "She has proved herself our friend more than once, and never more than now. If she wants a drink, it is Kreacher's pleasure to bring it to her. Any House-elf would say the same."

Ron was not so big a fool as to miss the message implicit in that statement.

"It's as bad as that?" he asked.

"Worse. And as I said, I'm done."

"You'd leave me? Forget about us?" he pressed.

"You have. Why shouldn't I?"

"I can't promise to wait for you," Ron said, looking at his feet.

"I don't ask you to. I wish you well, Ron, but if this is all it takes to part us then what we had wasn't worth much in the first place."

"You'll regret this one day," he predicted. She shrugged.

"Perhaps. God knows I regret enough other shit, but as I can't please everyone I figure it's time I took a shot at pleasing myself." Hermione thanked Kreacher for her drink, drained it, and handed him the glass.

"You're drunk, Hermione," Ron stated derisively.

"Not yet I'm not, but I'm working on it. Goodbye, Ron." He left without a word.

"I heard what happened," Harry said in greeting a while later.

"Really? What happened, then?" Hermione asked.

"You told off the Minister and the Council and quit. Just walked out," he answered.

"That about covers it, yes," she admitted, holding out her glass. Kreacher appeared and took it for a refill.

"You're drunk," Harry said.

"Almost. You're closer to right than Ron was, any road." Kreacher handed her a glass and she drained it.

"Hermione…"

"I know, Harry, I'll leave. You have Ginny to think of, and Ron is your best friend, but Harry, you have to believe me. Things are bad, worse than with Voldemort in some ways. I can't fix it, but you might have to. It sucks, it's not fair, and you deserve better, but it's coming. You have to believe me, Harry," she entreated.

"I do believe you, Hermione. You've never let me down, not once. But we all have our parts to play. Will you come back and help me rebuild once this is over?"

"I've always helped you, Harry. Take care of yourself this time, though. Okay?"

"I'll try. What do I tell Ginny?"

"Tell her I love her. Tell her I have to try and fix things with my parents. I do, but I doubt that I can. I'm burned out, Harry. I have nothing left to give, not when it's just thrown back in my face. I just can't do it any more. I'll leave tomorrow."

"Kreacher might go with you, you know," Harry said with a sad smile.

"Not likely, I won't have a house for him to elf in." Harry handed her an envelope.

"I owe you my life, Hermione, and I have more than I can spend in a lifetime. Take this. Be happy. God knows you deserve it." Tears filled Hermione's eyes.

"I love you, Harry."

"I know you do," he said quietly, "and you know that I love you too."

"Harry, will you go to bed with me? Just once…" she asked him wistfully.

"I'd like to, Hermione, I really would. I love you more than anyone I know except Ginny, but I can't. Not and be me," he told her sadly.

"But you want me? You think I'm pretty?"

Hermione had at last achieved drunkenness. Typically, she excelled at it.

"You are, and always will be, in every possible way, the most beautiful woman I have ever known," Harry assured her.

She smiled and fell asleep.

"She's gone, then?" Ron asked the next day.

"Yes," Harry told him.

"Couldn't take it I guess," Ron said.

"She took it for years, mate. Took all of it and left us the glory once the war was over. We never deserved her, none of us. How do think we'll get on without her?"

Ron had no reply to that.

XXXXX

That was her back story, mine is simpler. I got escorted out of Hogwarts prior to the battle and I ran. I grabbed the papers for my inheritance from my grandmother and I kept running 'till I found someplace where they had never heard of he-who-must-not-be-named.

Then I settled in and waited until the shit was over.

Nearly every story has heroes, including this one.

I am not one of them.

XXXXX

Our paths crossed one evening at the Hog's Head, I kind of like the place, always have, although I could never get Draco to go there back in school. Draco was kind of a pussy, really, but not a bad lay. He'd been on the straight and narrow ever since the war, and the few times I'd seen him he pretended not to recognize me. Shit, I couldn't really blame him, and I'd had enough of snooty wizard society anyway.

I walked up to the bar and ordered a firewhiskey, my usual. Aberforth knew me and was one of the few people willing to let bygones be bygones. Besides, I'm a good customer, I actually tip him. That's another thing I like about this place, next to the other customers I've got a lot of class. He poured me a double of the good stuff and I turned on my stool to survey the room. It was pretty much the same crowd as usual, meaning I didn't know any of them and didn't care, although there was a brunette at one table who had a great rack and was running her hand up some guy's leg. I settled in to watch the show.

She had the guy pretty worked up, her fingertips would brush across the bulge in his lap every now and then, but I was mostly watching the way her tits shifted under her jumper. So was the guy, come to that. I had just decided to be jealous and was wondering who I might call on for a little fun when some blonde witch came sailing into the joint screaming at the top of her lungs, calling the brunette all kinds of names and threatening to curse her into bits. She grabbed a handful of that dark hair and yanked, and the woman it was attached to came up out of her chair and punched the screaming witch right in the face. It was a hell of a punch, knocked her right on her ass and stopped the screaming for a moment or two, that is until the blonde pulled her hands away from her face and saw all the blood.

Now the guy was yelling at her too, and I could see she was maybe a little drunk, but not so drunk that she didn't disarm him when he pointed his wand at her.

"Expelliarmus," she said calmly, and that's when I recognized her.

Hermione Granger, in a bar fight with a jealous woman and her boyfriend or husband or whatever he was. I didn't have too long to wonder about it though, because some other people were showing an interest in the fight, and Aberforth suggested that I shag out the back before the law arrived. That seemed like a fine idea to me as I'm not the most popular witch in Britain. I was on the way when I saw somebody coming up behind Granger with a beer bottle and without thinking I stunned him and grabbed her by the hand.

"Come on, we need to get out of here," I told her, and she glanced around the place and saw the sense of that plan.

As soon we got outside she grabbed my arm and turned, Apparating us away.

When we arrived I looked around and recognized the place, we were in a room at the Leaky Cauldron.

"I could use a drink," she said, "come on, there's a bar downstairs. My treat. Oh, thanks for helping me out back there, I'm -"

"Hermione Granger," I supplied, and she stared at me.

"Parkinson?" I nodded. "Well, you are certainly one of the last people I would have ever expected to help me out of a jam," she admitted.

"Makes us even, you're the last person I ever expected to get into a bar fight," I told her. "Sweet punch, by the way." She looked at me hard, and then almost smiled.

"Thanks. I don't even know who she is, but I don't like my hair being pulled unless sex is involved."

My mouth may have dropped open a little at that one.

"Come on, let's get that drink," she said.

"Not a good idea," I objected.

"I am really, really tired of people telling me what to do, Parkinson," she said quietly. I held my hands up, open, and took a step back.

"Just listen for a minute, okay? Please?" I asked her. She nodded, her lips pressed into a narrow line. "If you want to get blasted I'm right there with you, but let's just get it sent up. You're famous, and the Magical Law Enforcement people may be looking for you. Tom will keep his mouth shut, he hasn't stayed in business this long by blabbing about his clientele, but you'll be spotted for sure downstairs. Aberforth will keep shut too, but somebody has to have recognized you, and do you really want to be hassled by the Min?"

"No. I have had quite enough of that. You're right, I guess I owe you another one," she admitted.

I walked over to the room service parchment. "Whiskey or Elf-wine?"

"Whiskey."

I wrote out an order for Ogden's Best, and added a little food; this looked like a night for serious drinking. The order appeared in moments, along with a note suggesting that the anonymous occupant of this room would do well to stay out of sight for a while. I showed it to her.

"I'll take the couch, you're sort of a guest," she told me, "and you did help me out."

"Thanks," I said, and I poured two big shots. She tossed hers down and held out the glass for a refill. I followed suit, and for a while we just concentrated on drinking.

"What are you doing here, anyway?" I asked her after maybe the fourth shot. "This doesn't seem like you."

"Yeah, well what do you know about me? I don't even know myself any longer. I told off the whole Ministry and walked out, I had to leave the place I was living, I broke up with Ron, my parents are terrified of me, I have no job, no plans, I'm living in this shitty hotel, and I'm getting drunk with a woman I share only a deep and mutual hatred with. I only know that I am sick and tired of being who other people think I should be, and doing what they think I should do. I want to drink, have uncomplicated sex when I feel the urge to, and not take any guff from anybody. Sod the whole world," she said passionately. I regarded her with new appreciation.

"I get that. I do. I don't claim to have been under the same pressures that you have, but I'm pretty tired of other people's expectations too. You're right, sod the lot of 'em." I poured again, and we toasted. "I don't hate you anymore either, screw it, it takes too much effort. Besides, if I piss you off you might break my nose too."

She actually smiled.

"Yeah, I might at that. What the hell, I've kind of dumped my friends, might as well dump my enemies too. What have you been doing with yourself?"

So we sat and drank, and nibbled on whatever it was that Tom had sent up, it might have been cheese, I suppose, and that's how I heard the story of what happened at the Min, and at Grimmauld Place. I told her my story too, although it didn't take nearly so long and wasn't very interesting.

"So Harry gave me some money and I got a room here," she finished, "been here about a week, I think."

Neither one of us was too clear about anything at that point, so I just nodded.

"I've got hangover potion in my bag," I told her, "it won't sober you up any, but it takes the pain out of the morning."

"Good. We might as well finish off this firewhiskey then." I got out the potion and we split it.

There were a few shots left, and I poured again. By then we were sort of sipping the whiskey. It was kind of nice, really, getting absolutely drunk with her. It wasn't like we were really friends, just two people who were both kind of fed up, finding a little common ground. I've had lots worse nights than that one.

The bottle was empty before I got up the nerve to ask her the thing I'd wanted to ask her since I first recognized her in the Hog's Head.

"Where did those boobs come from? You sure didn't have those things back in school."

She gave me a kind of sloppy grin.

"Late growth spurt. My mum got taller, I got these, wanna see them?"

She really was drunk, but so was I, so -

"Sure."

She peeled off her jumper and dropped her bra, taking a moment to rub the strap marks before sitting up and holding locking her fingers behind her head.

"What do you think?" she asked.

My tongue was kind of thick, and she seemed to maybe have three of them, but finally I managed to say-

"Damn, Granger, they're great, I'm jealous." They were great, round and full and heavy, and I wished I was sober so I could focus better. Then again if we were sober she never would have shown them off, so I was glad we were drunk.

I was also about to pass out, but I thought I heard her say, "You can touch them if you want to." If she really had said that, I really would have wanted to, but about that time my head hit the table.

I woke up alone in her bed, fully dressed except for my shoes, and Hermione was asleep on the couch. Her bra was still on the table, so maybe I didn't dream all of it, but unfortunately she had her jumper on.

She was still nice to look at, though, not counting the drool. She was really zonked. I did my morning stuff and cast a cleaning spell on my clothes, then I went down and ordered breakfast for us. The shower was running when I got back to Granger's room so I set out breakfast and had a cup of tea while I waited for her.

"Oh, I figured you were gone," she said, emerging from the bathroom wearing a robe, her hair still wet.

"I'll leave if you want me to, but I just went to get breakfast. How's the head?"

"Not bad, thanks for the potion. I don't think I've ever been that drunk before, I hope I didn't make a fool of myself or anything, I don't remember much after the first few drinks."

"Liar," I thought, the potion took care of that too, but if that's how she wanted to play it then I'd go along with her. "If you did I don't recall it," I told her. "Are you hungry?"

"Starving," she admitted, and she sat down across from me and helped herself. I was glad to see that she had a real appetite; I hate it when people pick at food. Eat it or don't eat it, but for Merlin's sake don't just shove it around your plate. Granger wasn't what I'd call fat, but there was meat on her bones for sure. Pretty nice meat from what I recalled.

"Got any plans on what to do now that you've left the Min? Teaching, maybe?" I asked.

"No immediate plans beyond being completely selfish for a while. Thanks to Harry I've got enough to last a bit if I'm careful. I damn sure don't want anything to do with the current administration. Oh, if you still have House-elves, you'd do well to free them. Things are coming to a head in the non or part human sector of the magical community."

"Thanks for the tip; I'll tell mother, she might even listen. I don't live at home anymore, since the war I keep a really low profile in the wizarding world. It was just luck I was in Hogsmeade last night, I kind of like the Hog's Head and Aberforth doesn't give me any grief. The drinks are cheap too. What got you there?" She looked at me for a moment and then shrugged.

"I wanted to get laid." I guess I stared a little. "I like sex, are you surprised?"

"Huh? No, I just never figured you for the type to pick up someone in a bar, I guess."

"Yeah, well that didn't work out too well anyway. Every place else I went people recognized me right away, I figured maybe the clientele there might not. I don't fancy getting in the "Prophet" again. Thanks again for helping out."

"Glad to. So, am I right in thinking that you're not real keen on stirring up gossip in the wizard community, but you want to cut loose a little?" I asked her.

"That's about right."

I buttered a piece of toast and worked on that while I thought things over. "What the hell, no harm in asking," I thought.

"It so happens that I have had a fair bit of experience in avoiding notice the last couple years, and I have a suggestion," I said as casually as I could.

"Let's hear it; I sure haven't been too good at avoiding notice myself. I almost wound up in jail last night, I guess."

"I bought a flat," I told her.

"I don't have that much money, Parkinson," she replied.

"I wasn't done. My flat is in Muggle London, nothing spectacular, but it's nice and modern. There are some good clubs and bars in the neighborhood and nobody has ever heard of Pansy Parkinson, the girl who tried to give Harry Potter to he-who-must-not-be-named."

"Well that's great for you, I guess, but-"

"I'll rent you a room for less than you're paying here. Your own room, your own bath, you come and go as you please. It would be safer for both of us than living alone, and we'd have privacy whenever we wanted it. Like I said, it's not spectacular, but it's way better than here." I would have let her stay for free, but I knew she would never go for that.

"Why would you do that? I mean, last night aside, we're hardly friends," she asked.

"Maybe not, but we've proved that we can be civil to each other. I'm not looking for someone to paint toenails and have pillow fights with, but I think it could work out for both of us. If you don't like it you can always leave, and I doubt anybody there has heard of you either."

"Anonymity does hold a certain appeal," she said slowly.

"You'll just be one more woman with a great pair of tits," I promised her. She looked startled, then she grinned a little.

"You've got a deal, Parkinson. One thing's sure, nobody will think to look for me at your place."