Story time: so a year ago, my friend Ashley aka LittleNightDragon read & reread my story, Five Stages of Kissing, and said to me (countless times) that I should expand on it. Make it a multi-chapter story. I wasn't too sure about that since I kept thinking how could I expand the time of friendship Drarry and five kisses? But when she begged for me to do it, suggesting it could be her birthday gift, I finally decided to do it. At the time I was like, okay, the story will have ten chapters. Fifteen maximum. Little did I know at the time how it would grow.

On June 19, 2015 I posted the first chapter of Stages. And now a year later-officially a year later, here we are with over 500 reviews and so many favorites/followers under its' belt. And we're not even halfway through with the story. To celebrate this awesome day, I decided to celebrate with an early update. Thanks so much Ash for suggesting I make this story and also thank you, you awesome readers.

Chapter 26: Unraveling Inner Roots and Wings

Draco never thought he would say this, but for the first time in almost fourteen years he actually hated France.

Well, actually, maybe he should be more specific. It wasn't that he hated the country. After all, it was where half his heritage originated from. It housed one of his favorite cities in the world. It was enriched with culture, art, music-and the most delicious food. He liked France just fine.

It was the stupid retreat his parents dropped him off at, which he hated.

It wasn't even a retreat. It was a camp, and not just any one. It was a specialized camp meant to help students unlock their mysterious side and, for those who already unlocked that side, how to master their abilities.

And what mysterious side would that be? Their Veela side.

The creature was no lost concept to Draco. He was already familiar with the basics thanks to Mother who spent the previous summer teaching him of their family history, then had sent him dozens of books that spoke more of their heritage. He understood that Veela blood ran through his veins; it was very strong in the Black lineage. The gene itself, though, was unpredictable, emerging every now and then, sometimes touching all the siblings in one family or just one child, sometimes going from great-grand uncle to a distant cousin. The last Black who carried the gene was a great-great grandfather.

Which was why Draco didn't put too much thought into it. Why he shouldn't even be here in the first place. Magical inheritance didn't fully emerge till the witch or wizard reached sixteen, which meant he still had almost two years to see if he possessed the gene. Sadly, that wasn't enough to convince Mother. Or Father. Or the stupid teachers that insisted he attend every single class and lesson, despite the fact he couldn't participate in most of their activities. Activities that required wings, claws-body parts he did not (and most certainly did not want to) have.

"Un bonbon pour un sourire?"

A candy for a smile? Draco frowned down at the mushroom soup he chose for lunch that he was more-so staring at than eating. He directed that dark frown up at the girl who had the audacity to not only take the empty chair across him without asking for permission, but to do so with a teasing smile.

"Do I look like a child?" he snapped.

Amusement touched her curved lips. "Well, you certainly act like one."

Draco sneered. Fleur Delacour returned the look with a charming smile he imagined that would have buffoons falling at her feet.

Alright, fine, perhaps it was unfair to call them buffoons for falling. The girl was undeniably, impossibly beautiful with her long, light hair that was so pale it was almost silver in the sunlight, eyes that were large and deep-blue, and her skin fair and flawless. Even her teeth were perfect, all thirty-two digits gleaming pearly-white. Her tall, willowy frame was always shown nicely by her form-fitting clothes.

She had been appointed as Draco's guide when he first came to the camp. It wouldn't have been so bad if the girl didn't take her job so seriously, making sure to escort Draco to each of his classes as if him being on his own would ensure he'd be lost, spouting information about Veela and the importance of maintaining their wings, reviewing everything that happened in class and frowning disappointedly whenever he couldn't fill in the gaps to her questions, taking pure delight in his misery.

Three years his junior and a half-Veela, Delacour considered herself an expert and loved having a young, ignorant mind to teach. She was like a prettier, blond-haired, French version of Granger. Only a tad bit less insufferable.

"Why ze long face?" she asked. "It can't because of ze accommodations."

That was one thing he was grateful for: that the lodgings were to his standards. It wasn't like those horrible Muggle camps Harry told him about with overheated, unbearably-hot log cabins and flimsy tents, ridden with vicious mosquitoes, where they were forced to eat slop not even the bugs would indulge in. The retreat was more elegant than those nightmares. More so that classeswere set up in a luxurious five-star hotel with fine suites for the students, gourmet chefs preparing them quality meals, and various entertainments to keep them occupied in between classes such as the pools, the tennis court, the Quidditch field.

Too bad, that wasn't enough to make this summer decent.

Draco shrugged with one shoulder and took a stab at his soup, breaking the soggy mushroom into smaller pieces.

"I've talked with your instructors."

It was a breadcrumb meant to draw him out, only he refused to take the pitiful offering. Delacour sighed and continued on.

"Zey say zat even though you seem to pay close attention to lessons, you don't participate in zem."

Draco shrugged again, hiding a smirk as he watched a frown cross her pretty face.

"Do you think it's not important? Zat it's-'ow you say-useless?"

Draco wiped his mouth with a red linen napkin, taking his sweet time. "Unimportant," he finally said. "no. Useless, no. However they are not relevant to me."

"Oh?" A sharp brow arched. The gesture reminded him less of Granger and more of his mother, who always seemed to know something before anyone else did.

He wasn't sure if it was the one-word question or the familiar gesture that annoyed him. Either way it caused him to bristle, his words sharpening as he said "Let's see. Most of the activities involve flying lessons, wing-maintenance, or claw-shifting. Parts, which in case you didn't seem to notice, I do not have."

"Yet."

"And there's no possible way of knowing if I even have the gene."

"Yet."

The spoon he used for his soup crumbled in his fist. While he would never strike a lady, he doubt anyone would blame him if a hexing spell accidently hit her. Especially if she was pushing his buttons. Especially if, Merlin help her, she said, "yet," one more time.

He forced himself to take in a deep breath. "What's the purpose of having non-Veela students here? They can't exactly learn to control powers they don't have."

"True," Delacour nodded. "But it is never too early to start to learn. To become familier with ze customs, ze history, ze abilities. Ze sooner we learn, ze easier the transition is."

Okay, fair point. Magical children were required to take lessons before they came to Hogwarts so they were prepared.

"But zat's not all that concerns you, is it?"

Draco paid close attention to his soup.

"I'm curious, Draco. You experience any symptoms before you came here?"

"Why?" he smiled sweetly at her, his tone jagged. "You volunteering to be my nurse?"

Her smile remained to his annoyance. "I don't mean regular symptoms like fever and shivers. I mean more…" She took a moment to find the right word. "inward."

He could barely suppress the snort that ripped through his mouth.

"Like nose sensitivity?"

So he happened to tell who did and didn't take a bath. It wasn't exactly a magic trick. Anyone could do it by simply looking, taking in the person's ragged appearance. And if he happened to notice more, then it was nothing. Although it did come in handy in figuring out where friends were if he noticed the extra musk sticking to their skin.

"'aving strange dreams?"

The second snort that had been ready to launch ceased fire as fragments crashed into his head. Him and Harry entangled in the snow like they were earlier afternoon that day, but with a different ending. Followed by dozens of dreams afterward, sometimes taking place in the snow or in their room or in an empty classroom consisting of touching, kissing, lots of kissing, clothes shedding, more kissing and touching and feath-

Stop! He commanded, forcing his mind to stop before the fragments became a whole picture.

Across from him, Delacour's faint smile blossomed into a full one, as if one look into his flustered face gave her all the answers she needed.

Okay, so those may have happened-more than once-but so what? Dreams were dreams; they didn't mean anything. He was ready to tell her that till she cut him off with another question.

"Also strange behavior? 'ave you noticed zat?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Lately 'ave you felt more irritated? More anxious? Impulsive?"

Of course he was irritated. He was miles away from his best friend who was doing Merlin knows what with a buffoon and a dangerous werewolf that could easily be set off while he was forced to endure Veela classes. Anxious since the previous school year nearly took a good decade or two off his life, thanks to dementors, school break-ins, crazy dogs, and the goddamn git dragging him into danger. It was a miracle he didn't suffer a heart attack. As for being impulsive? Would hexing a girl to the other side of the room so he could be left alone count?

His lack of response seemed to be the perfect answer for her. She inclined her head in a satisfied nod.

The spoon was now a crumbled mess. He placed it beside his soup and pushed the bowl away, his appetite gone. "Are we done here?"

"No," she answered. "Have you also noticed new changes with your body?" Before he could hit her with a comment, she said, "I don't mean claws and wings. And before you ask, no, I also don't mean fangs. We don't 'ave them. I mean something else. Like your features sharpening? Eyes changing color?"

He took it back. She was just like Granger, an insufferable insect with a prettier face. "Doesn't mean anything."

She leaned forward and stared at him for what felt like an long hour. "You're scared."

Of all the things she could say, he didn't expect that. Or for the words to cause shock to slam against his system like a fist.

"You're scared because you are a man who likes to be in control, and coming into a possible inheritance scares you because you can't control it. You're scared of what ze changes will do to you. 'ow they will affect you."

Any answer, any word, or even a scoff would be better than silence. Except he couldn't think of anything, not a response.

The gentle look that crossed Delacour's face did little to soothe him. "You're also scared of ze transition. 'ow painful it will be, 'ow it will change you."

Anything was better than silence, but that was all his mind could give. All he could give.

"I understand zat it can be scary. It was for me when I went through it. But zat is ze case for every new phase. Some of ze…processes can be scary, but ze results can be magnificent. Zere is also ze gifts zat come with ze gene."

"What sort of gifts?"

Delacour gave him another charming smile. Feathers burst from her back, causing Draco to nearly fall off his seat. The feathers sprouted from his back, growing and unfolding into a pair of beautiful wings.

"I like to think zey are a very special gift."

Draco couldn't help but stare at them. Even he couldn't try to mask his amazement at their beauty. It was one thing to see wings in a book. It was another to see them in person. Questions rose in his head. Did the wings hurt every time they came out? Would he need special clothes for them?

"Among others," she continued. "Such as ze strength, heightened senses, the allure."

The allure, the Veela allure that was just as powerful as a vampire's. Even more so, according to one of his teachers. One glance into the Veela's eyes and the person was instantly under their spell. The Veela could have them do anything he or she wished: fall at their feet and declare their undying love, act the fool for their amusement, even jump off a roof if they wanted. The Veela could also manifest the allure, having it affect only one person but an entire crowd if they focused hard enough.

That was the only part Draco didn't mind so much.

"And zere's more."

"More than little parlor tricks and wings?"

Delacour was unfazed by the comment. "Discovering not only our inner self but our other 'alf." There must have been confusion written on his face because she kept going on. "Our mate."

Draco's heart skipped like a pebble tossed across a lake, going once, twice, three times before sinking. Or in this case stopping. "M-mate?"

Delacour nodded. "Zey are our opposite in every way but are also our equals. Zey are both, in a sense, our greatest weakness as well as our greatest strength."

Words. He needed his words. He needed to speak. To say something, anything. "So," he said. "this mate?" He couldn't explain nor suppress the shiver that ran through his body as the word rolled off his tongue. "It can be anyone? Like someone under the allure?"

"No and yes." He didn't need to look into a mirror to know that confusion shaped his face. "Mates can sense ze allure. Zey can feel zat pull, but zey don't fall for it. Not completely. As for it being anyone?"

Draco had no idea how much the topic interested him until he found himself leaning forward.

"Most times, yes, a mate can be a stranger. Sometimes zey can be an acquaintance you're already familiar with." A soft touch of wonder, the only word he could think of at the moment that seemed perfect, settled on her face. "Few times it can be someone already close to us. A person who play big role in our life. Someone we keep close in our 'eart."

He nodded absentmindedly without hearing the words, his interest fading. He then reached for his glass of iced tea that was getting more lukewarm the more it sat there.

"Such as a best friend."

The moment he took a sip of his drink, the words slipped out from her mouth, causing not only for a jolt to run through his body, but for the drink to go down the wrong pipe that set him off in a near-choking fit.

It took a few minutes and several sips of iced tea to settle his coughing.

"P-pardon?" He was never more glad that the school, camp, whatever the hell they liked to call themselves didn't allow outside visitors which included parents. If Father were to come in and see how his heir was behaving, flustered and stammering like an imbecile…Draco had no idea what he would do. However he knew the results wouldn't be pleasant, least of all for him.

Delacour's amused, almost-knowing smile brightened. "In a few cases, a small fraction really, of Veelas find zeir mates in zeir best friends. Someone already important to them. Close to their 'earts."

Against his better judgment and control, green eyes danced across his vision. Colored a unique green that was too deep and too bright with specks of gold, framed with hideous glasses that couldn't diminish their brilliance, and unruly dark-

Stop it! He needed to stop. He had to stop and shove the thought far away, banishing it to the deepest, furthest corners of his mind.

"Sometimes, ze the Veela feels ze pull before ze mate. Sometimes ze pull is feeling. Few times it can be voice."

Mine, it whispered, bringing to mind soft, pink lips that tasted so sweet, miles of beautiful skin that was smooth and golden. Beautiful skin that needed to be touched, to be kissed, to be marked-

STOP!

"Fascinating." he managed to say. He was proud that his voice remained steady. "But as I said, we don't know if I even have the gene."

Delacour gave a slight nod, the smile still attached to her face. "Zen I suppose we wait and see."

Later on that night Draco prepared for bed.

The room was immensely smaller than his own at the Manor, even smaller than his Hogwarts dorm. But it had a comfortable bed in a much-needed king size, decent closet space, and, most importantly, it was his and only his. Merlin knew what the hell would happen if a roommate was forced on him. Actually scratch that. He knew what would happen, and knew the roommate wouldn't last long.

After his body was dried from his late-night shower and moisturized with his favorite lotion, he slipped on his pajama bottoms, then reached for his shirt. Before he pulled it over his head, curiosity trickled his head. He walked over to the full-length mirror attached to the closet door, turned around, and looked over his shoulder to examine his back. Nothing. Just skin, pale skin that looked like it could use another dab of lotion but other than that nothing. No feathers, no strange marks.

He looked down at his hands, seeing that his nails were a bit uneven but not sharp. Then, his teeth to make sure they were still normal.

As he pulled his lip higher, widening his mouth, and leaned in close to the mirror to examine the back teeth, it dawned on him what he was doing. Sheepishly, he took a step back, dropping his hand from his mouth, then that sheepishness darkened to annoyance once he realized how utterly ridiculous he was being.

Honestly. Checking for wings? Examining his nails for claws? His teeth for Merlin's sake?

Idiot, he scoffed as he pulled on his shirt.

As much as Draco hated to admit it, his mind couldn't let go of the conversation he had with Delacour. Even worse, he was finding actual points the girl made to be interesting and, to an extent, insightful. It irritated him. More than that, he was miserable.

Last summer, Harry was all the way in Moscow while he was stuck at the Manor, suffering from severe boredom and also from an unbearable ache, throbbing in his chest like a heartbeat but each pulse unleashed a flare of pain. This summer, the ache was back, more intense than before, steady as a heartbeat, punctuating into every inch of his chest like hammered nails. Searing-hot nails slowly but harshly digging deeper in, inch by inch. Just like last summer, the ache started the second a familiar black mop disappeared into the floo's green flames. And just like then, exchanging letters almost everyday did little to soothe it.

Draco wondered what Harry would make of this place. His best friend had recently become familiar with some of the Veela aspects after coming across one of the books Mother had him deliver for her. He didn't know what Harry had seen or how far he had gotten into the book. What he did know was right after Harry handed him the book, he asked Draco to see more of the other books she had given him. If he was allowed to visit, would he think the school was just as ridiculous as Draco did? Or would he think the opposite, as he often did, and see some strange appeal to it? What would he think of Delacour?

A scowl curved Draco's mouth as he thought back to the girl's charming smiles, mashing it with the image of Harry receiving that smile and becoming a love-sick puppy, making his stomach churn. Maybe he couldn't blame his best friend for drooling since, annoying or not, Delacour was a pretty girl. Most would even say beautiful.

Just because he can't help it, he scowled as he crawled into bed, doesn't mean I have to like it.

The scowl soon vanished as he thought back to their conversation, about him needing to be more open-minded with the place and the teachers' lessons. About the high possibility of him inheriting the gene and the "gifts" that came with it. Like the wings, the claws that could prove to be as useful as a wand, the heightened senses, the allure, and the Veela's other half.

Or mate to put it bluntly.

A mate who was his opposite in almost every way but also his equal. Someone who'd take immediate notice of the allure if he used it on them, not falling prey to his charms. Someone who'd be his greatest weakness as well as his greatest strength.

"Weakness." Draco scoffed. That was one unappealing bit about the package. The Veela's mate being a weakness to them. The way Delacour talked, it was like the mate was a crutch the Veela constantly leaned on. He was a Malfoy and Malfoys do not allow weaknesses of any sort.

He pulled the blanket over his head and closed his eyes. He rolled onto the left side, then his right, finally flipping onto his back again when sleep refused to come to him.

His mind refused to let go of the conversation, about the possibility of gaining a mate. According to Delacour, the mate could be anyone. A stranger he may come across that falls for him the instant their eyes meet and who he falls for a second later. Someone he was already familiar with, like a student he passed by in the halls he didn't spare a glance at before but would apparently do more so If the Veela deemed them worthy. Or-

"A person who play big role in our life. Someone we keep close in our 'eart…a best friend."

An image popped into his head, a familiar picture from one of his books. Of the winged man entangled in another's embrace, a person who was one second a woman, the next a man. The image altered with himself as the Veela and Harry as the other person, wings bursting from his back, enveloping around them like a safe cocoon. The image dissolved into another: them entangled in the snow, limbs entwined and touching in ways they never were before, calling attention to their newly-developed bodies and the tension that hung between them like a heavy curtain. How they were so close to each other, all it would have taken was a kiss to close the distance between them. Which brought to mind all of the times their lips touched and the familiar warmth that blossomed at five years old when they commenced the serpent salute always ignited, developing over the years as they had, becoming less innocent and more-more intense.

Draco recalled the last time contact like that happened between them. When he was finally allowed to see Harry after barely surviving the dementors, feeling like he was falling into a cold, black hole and trying so desperately to stay afloat. To keep fighting alongside Harry. To stay awake. When he came into the room and those beautifully-alive emerald greens looked at him, instinct just took over.

He needed physical evidence that Harry was okay. Needed to not only see but feel that he was alright. That-

Stop! He commanded before his mind dragged him down to a black hole he'd never be able to crawl out of.

He smacked the palms of his hands against his forehead. "Goddamn bloody hormones." He wouldn't only need to deal with them, but Veela instincts that may or may not happen.

That…Draco lowered his hands as he thought over it. That left some room, almost two years of it. Time to settle with everything, to deal with his feelings.

Wait and see, as Delacour said. And if and when by the time he got his answer, he'd figure out where to go from there.