A Proper Attire (Remake)

After several minutes of **** humiliation, Draco noticed that his shoes were now gleaming with cleanliness. Ginny’s tongue, despite all her rage and disgust, had performed the task almost flawlessly. However, the thought that the daughter of blood traitors still retained even a drop of dignity was unbearable to him. With a slight smirk, he opened the worn notebook and slowly, with relish, wrote out new lines.

New rule: All slaves must obey any order from their master without question.

Setting the notebook aside, Draco leaned back in his chair and gestured for Ginny to stand. The girl rose, trembling with anger and shame. Her eyes flashed with fury, but her body was already submitting to the ancient magic of the contract.

“Take out your wand, ****,” Draco said arrogantly, with his usual Slytherin haughtiness.

Ginny, still unable to believe what was happening, reluctantly pulled her wand from the back pocket of her pants. Her fingers gripped the familiar wood tightly.

“And now break it,” he added calmly.

Ginny’s face twisted in unbearable pain. She tried to resist — the muscles in her arms trembled, cold sweat broke out on her forehead. A heavy silence fell over the café. Some of the patrons — mostly from the old dark families — watched the scene with approving smirks. The rest looked on with disgust and horror, but no one dared intervene.

A sharp, dry crack rang out. Ginny’s wand snapped in half in her own hands. The broken pieces fell to the floor, and with them, it felt as if a part of her had been extinguished. Tears streamed down the red-haired witch’s cheeks. Without her wand, she was now almost a Squib — helpless, stripped of the power that had always been her pride.

Draco shifted his gaze to her clothing. The pink T-shirt and tight black pants seemed unworthy of even a **** to him. Too modern, too Muggle, too… free.

“This clothing does not suit you, ****,” he said coldly. “Take it off.”

Ginny froze, her eyes widening in despair.

“Please, Malfoy…” her voice trembled, almost pleading. “Let me stay in my clothes. I’ll do anything, just leave me some dignity.”

Draco laughed — quietly, cheerfully, almost tenderly.

“You’re already obliged to do anything I command, ****. Undress. Now.”

Tears continued to roll down her face as Ginny reached for the hem of her pink T-shirt. Slowly, with shaking hands, she pulled it over her head. Beneath it was revealed a flat, toned stomach — the result of years of Quidditch training. The bright red bra, in a Gryffindor shade, hugged her breasts tightly. Draco grimaced — that color disgusted him — but the sight still gave him pleasure.

The T-shirt flew aside. Ginny stood there, covering her chest with one arm while her other hand unbuttoned her trousers. She slid them down, revealing her slender legs and simple black panties. Kicking off her shoes, she fully removed the lower half of her clothing, gathered everything into a bundle, and threw it at Draco’s feet — a small, **** act of defiance.

Malfoy frowned. Even now she was trying to cling to the remnants of her pride.

“This will cost you dearly, ****,” he said calmly, but his voice carried icy fury. “The rest too. I want to see you completely naked.”

Ginny’s eyes widened. An even heavier silence fell over the café. Many men — and not only men — were now openly staring in her direction, greedily watching every movement. Ginny Weasley, Ron’s sister and Harry Potter’s former love, stood almost naked before the entire Diagon Alley.

The girl reached behind her back with trembling fingers and unclasped her bra. The red fabric slipped away, revealing her small but firm breasts with nipples hardened from the cold and shame. She tried to cover herself with her arm, but Draco only smirked. Then, with a final **** sob, Ginny pulled down her black panties and stepped out of them, standing completely naked.

Now she stood before him — utterly bare, her face burning, covered in goosebumps, clenching her fists so tightly that her nails dug into her palms. Tears flowed down her cheeks, and her body trembled with humiliation and helplessness.

Draco leaned back in his chair, savoring the view. His silver eyes slowly trailed over every inch of her body — from her disheveled red hair to the tips of her toes. The café was filled with the heavy scent of coffee, hearth ash, and tense anticipation.

He smiled lazily, already anticipating what new lines would appear in the notebook and how much deeper he could plunge Ginny Weasley into the abyss of humiliation.

This was only the beginning.