Draco scoffed and was dragged back to the present when the doors to the lift were wrenched open, missives flying about and scattering into the corridor as the trio enters. He rubbed his palms on his robes and realised he was still in his Azkaban-issued robes. He should have been more embarrassed than he was, but at the moment all he could feel was absolute terror at what awaited him in the Wizengamot chambers, and what fate his mother faced. He paused, then remembered he also cared what happened to his father. Only time would tell, he hoped.