Draco doesn’t care. He grabs his wand from the bedside table and transfigures the offending shoes into a pair of sensible black Oxfords. He’d gotten his wand back a couple of months ago. Half way through the five years. He’d had every bloody war hero he knew testify at that hearing. Potter and Weasley had only agreed to do it when Draco promised to cover that night's pub tab.