Hello my avid readers!

I am extremely excited to announce that I have written a NEW story. However, due to my almost crippling self-confidence issues and lack of words - how do you manage to write 5,000 words, tell me - I am having doubts about continuing. So, without further ado, this is my prologue to what will hopefully become a novella of Hermione fun.

Lots of love,

Emmy. x

Looking simply at the outside of the Evans' household, one could see nothing out of the ordinary.

A familiar gravel path, which parted an emerald-green lawn identical to the neighbour's, lead straight to an average arched doorway. An oak stood tall and proud at the front of the garden, which blocked one's view of this particular home and the one next-door and left dappled sunlight on the grass below, making the springtime daisies seem even brighter. The small step to the porch was barely noticeable; yet the porch itself was a tad bolder; its wooden railings painted a pleasant pale blue that complimented the light grey of the wooden door; it seemed the quintessential family home. If one were to inquire about the comings and goings of Number 37, the response would seem mundane.

Were you to ask Mrs Jennings, she would gleefully gush and recount every incident she could remember involving the couple and their little angels. She would then proceed to primp her perm and offer one tea as she informed one of any tale that involved the residents across the road. She'd subsequently frown as she realised that the particular family to which one was referring was abnormally normal and proceed to prattle on about the devilishly sordid details of her next-door neighbour's life, Judy Geiger.

Yet even thought she was, perhaps, a bit too invested in the goings-on of the local community, Mrs Jennings had witnessed the growth of the Evans from duo to family. They had first arrived alone, on a warm spring day, but Mrs Jennings could tell that the young woman who'd gracefully slid out of their car was expecting; Mrs Jennings had a sixth sense about these sorts of things, so she had highly doubted the beautiful woman was aware of this.

And indeed, Holly Evans was a beautiful young woman. She stood, tall and slender, with a fresh face and rosy complexion that resembled the clouds above her. Her luxuriously wavy locks flowed down in vivacious curls until they met her uncovered shoulders, the contrast of chocolate to ivory as shocking as her luridly jade eyes.

Her husband seemed as blessed and Mrs Jennings could not help but get distracted by his tousled brown hair and bronzed skin, which shined in the sun. He had an athletic body; stood around 6ft 2 and she could tell that he had spent time in the gym.

The young couple emitted a comforting air of harmony and friendliness; it was obvious that this couple were suburbanites through and through. Mrs Jennings could tell that they would be heartily welcomed into the community, with the little kid they had on the way and the homey detached home across the street.

Mrs Jennings had been out in the garden when the familiar scream of a woman in hellish torture was shrieked into the street. The owner of that fierce cry was soon revealed as Holly Evans, pyjama-clad and flushing, was rushed out of their home by a sympathetic and worried Christopher Evans straight to the car, which then sputtered to life and sped jerkily down Halfpenny Lane, straight – Mrs Jennings assumed – to the hospital.

Around two days later, the Evans hosted a small gathering where they proudly proclaimed the birth of a happy, healthy baby girl: Petunia Evans. Their friends and family were invited as well as - to the surprise of most neighbours - the inhabitants of the street. Well, Mrs Jennings gladly attended, having felt fortunate for the opportunity to chat to someone new. It was there she met the littlest Evans and she could instantly tell she got her looks from her father. She conversed with the new parents, learning of the horrifying pain Petunia's mother had suffered and her plans never to have children again, but Mrs Jennings knew, from the look in the lovely woman's eye that there would be more children to come.

Safe in her bungalow, Mrs Jennings watched as baby Petunia moved from bundle to pram, to crawling and finally to standing on her own two feet. She saw the young baby grow into a young child, when finally her prediction came true.

For this particular announcement, the Evans had attempted to accommodate a plethora of relatives, colleagues and friends in their medium-sized home to celebrate the newest additions to their family, Lily and Hermione Evans.

These darlings were astonishingly beautiful, even as infants, and their appearance had made a stamp on all who met them. They were obviously not identical, but you could see the likeness rather well.

The one they named Lily was absolutely gorgeous, with satin red hair that had grown rather quick, a cute button nose and strikingly inquisitive jade eyes that sparkled just like her mothers.

Those emerald orbs were also found on Hermione, who was a tad smaller than Lily; yet her eyes seemed to express such pure naïvety and optimism that it was hard to look away. Her soft baby curls were a burnished auburn and shone in the springtime sun. They were wild, spiralling and rambunctious, yet they did not form a bush, rather a mane of red that framed her equally cute face.

Up until that point, Mrs Jennings had doubts about the Evans family; Christopher had been spending more time at the office than usual and Holly never seemed as happy as she had before.

But it was when she saw the love in the eyes of both parents and daughters alike, that she knew they would be just fine.

Hey! Thank you so much for reading, I love to write but I always get nervous when posting; I know i'll never write as well as you you guys deserve but oh well. I appreciate any kind of constructive criticism, so please review with your thoughts and ideas so I can reply in the next chapter. I know this is a bit odd, but I love the idea of Hermione in the marauders era so, thanks!

Emmy. x