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Intoxicate Me (Draco Malfoy)



The swirl of poisonous apprehension had quickly left Juliet’s drumming thoughts.

Ravenclaw. She was a Ravenclaw.

She quickly scurried off the platform whilst another first-year slowly strode up with the same reluctance she had earlier. Hoping she would not draw any attention to herself, Juliet smiled shyly at the fifth-year Ravenclaw who motioned her to her seat.

‘What’s your name?’

‘I’m Juliet.’ She tucked her ink-black locks behind her ear too quickly.

She had planned to refrain sharing her last name and silently prayed that the fifth-year brunette would simply nod and leave her be.

And she did.

As the other children in her year erupted into bubbly chatter, Juliet was purely content with observing the chaotic jumble around her.

The little witch focussed her roaming pupils on a fawn-haired girl who possessed a persona that filled the whole prism-shaped hall.

In front of her were two distracted companions, as Juliet noted, who seemed a bit too taken aback by her, perhaps even gobsmacked by her massive presence. One of them was a freckle-faced, ginger-haired boy. He whispered into the ear of the boy next to him, careful not to attract the attention of the still-rambling, buoyant cloud of enigma sitting parallel to them. The boy listening seemed mildly uncomfortable, busy shifting his eyes from left to right. Perhaps he was too, taking it all in, one by one.

Her eyes moved from the huge glasses that were swallowing his whole face, to his forehead. Then, she saw it. Even when they were curtained by his scanty fringe she could notice the unmistakably infamous scar.


She instantly knew who he was. It was The Boy Who Lived.

Often Juliet didn’t really care about most news her parents would converse over at the dinner table, but the sharp notion of words bellowed by her father on that rainy November evening had truly never left her mind.

’That boy, he’s a danger, Raphaela. He survived him.′

Of course, both her father and mother were unassuming of her perked ears and working logic at that time. Their only daughter, at ten years old, had somewhat understood the urgency of their pensive and panicked discussion.

She thought to herself, perhaps that was why the peculiar mark on the boy’s forehead had begun to matter a significant sum on her mind.

Snapping back to reality, Juliet followed the crowd of first-years to grab their respective uniforms and robes.

She grabbed hers, it was royal blue, almost purple... perhaps it would be her new favourite colour, after pale baby blue of course.


Her small body had crashed into a species of her size, maybe taller.

Juliet whipped her head around instinctively and furrowed her brows.

He was blonde. Too blonde, she decided. His pointed, menacing face glowered terribly, an attempt to intimidate her.

“Watch where you’re going, you idiot!”

She was speechless. Yet one thought had clicked in her head.


She swore she spat the word in her head before she saw the green and silver slung around his arm. She was no slave to House prejudices, but she was not surprised to see that he wasn’t a fellow Ravenclaw.

What a relief.

It seemed like the boy was waiting for a response he may never get. For a split second their eyes met. His ice-blue eyes unsettled her in the most disarming way, even if her subconscious had decided for her that it had possessed her favourite shade of blue.

Unfortunately, such nice eyes had the joy of being windows to an irksome soul.

“Are you listening? Are you deaf?′ He growled.

She examined the disgusted, tart look on his face and found herself honing her desire to shove a balled fist between his eyes.

’Well, I’m not the only one with eyes!′ The small witch scowled. ’Besides, you’re supposed to be on the Slytherin line— this is the Ravenclaw line.′

The boy’s expression was veiled with furrows of indifference and resentment; his face stonier than the gargoyles from her house.

’Who even are you?′ The imp sneered, his question anything but genuine.

The space between his brows was getting too tempting to dent.

No, violence wasn’t what she usually resorted to.

But even if she was smart as an owl, no amount of ration could win an argument with this platinum blonde ferret.

Deciding upon flight instead of fight, she spun her heel and stalked away, hoping he’d let her go without another bitter word.

“Yeah, go and run, you nobody!” He called out.

As she quickened her pace, she cursed the rascal.

Please, Merlin, let me never see him again.

Though Juliet knew her prayers were fruitless. In fact, she had a feeling her encounter with the impudent boy was far from over.

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