Indeed. Back on the outside, looking in. Quite literally. The crisp autumn breeze carried a rustle of leaves down the quiet street outside her flat, the cool evening bringing an end to one of the last warm days of the season. He shouldn’t be here. But Draco couldn’t make himself leave, watching through the open French doors off her balcony as Hermione held the newborn baby in the cradle of her arms. The mop of thick, dark hair indicated that this could only be Potter’s newest sprog. As if its visiting mother and toddler brother didn’t already give that away.