A/N: Hey y'all! Some hurt/comfort PercyDraco for you. :)

Word Count: 931

WARNINGS: Mentions of war and character death, self-deprecating thoughts

Enjoy!

"I didn't think I'd find you here."

Draco didn't turn around, but a slight tilt of his head acknowledged Percy's presence. "Then why did you come?"

There was the sound of dead grass crunching underfoot, and then Percy's freckled arm was around Draco's shoulders. "I looked in all your usual spots, and it seemed logical, considering the context of the argument."

Draco's grey eyes stared straight ahead at the tombstone in front of him as he flinched; he knew Percy was looking at it, too. "I… I didn't intend to shout at your mother," he said at last.

It was true; his angry words, aimed at Molly Weasley, hadn't been intended. But the dinner at the Burrow had been so tense, and Draco had immediately gone on the defensive. So he lashed out at the person he knew would be least likely to hurt him back.

He should never have brought up Fred, though. He knew that was a mistake. The words still echoed in his head: It's not my fault that your son is dead.

His face burned with shame. He didn't even know how Percy could stand to be near him—not after the things he'd said.

"She understands why you did, you know. Charlie, Ron, Ginny, and I are all prone to lashing out when things get to be too much—this isn't new to her."

Draco screwed his eyes shut and carefully withdrew from his lover's embrace. "She didn't deserve that, though, and I wanted her—I wanted them—" He cut himself off before he could finish. I wanted them to like me. He scrubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands, a heavy weight settling over his shoulders. "This was supposed to go well, Percy. All I did was fuck it up."

Percy didn't try to touch him again, but he crossed his arms. Draco noticed that he didn't have his cloak, even though it was the dead of winter, and felt a fresh wave of guilt; he must have run out right after Draco did. "You were wrong to yell," Percy said sternly. "You hurt Mum's feelings, even though I know she'll forgive you if you apologize. But I'm not… I'm not going to let you self-destruct." Percy took a hesitant step forward. "You're not alone anymore, Draco. I want to share your emotional burdens, just like you share mine."

Draco slowly uncurled, straightening his spine and lowering his hands. His cloak was heavy on his shoulders, but he still shivered. He looked around the graveyard, but his eyes always swept back to Fred's tombstone.

Percy was still waiting patiently for an answer, so Draco swallowed thickly. "I'm not good for you," he whispered in a defeated, yet scathing, voice. "They were all thinking it. They were appalled, and they were right to be. I can't" —here, the emotion threatened to overwhelm him— "help but hurt people."

It was crushing, the truth of his words. He'd been raised to strike down those who threatened his position, to belittle anyone less worthy of him—to view others as inferior. Now he was in a different world, and as much as he wanted to be worthy of the man he loved, to be worthy of the love that man offered, he couldn't help but sabotage himself. It was a vicious cycle, but one that he'd had no luck in breaking.

Warm hands grabbed his left forearm and pushed back the sleeve; spent, Draco let it happen. The Dark Mark was cradled by calloused fingers, and Draco shuddered at the touch.

"He made you think this was all you could be." Percy's breath ghosted over the skin of Draco's pale cheeks. "But you're better than him. You're better than his ideals, his words…"

"I'm not—"

"Just—let me finish, please?" Draco nodded hesitantly, so Percy continued. "I don't expect you to be perfect, Draco. I don't want you to change yourself, I want you to be yourself." The redhead let out a low chuckle. "I wouldn't love you otherwise."

Draco leaned back into Percy touch, spent. He closed his eyes and let his head rest against the taller man's shoulder, the energy sapping out of him. "You deserve better," he murmured.

Percy shook his head firmly. "I can't imagine life without waking up to your stupid face every morning," Percy whispered. "Let's go back to the flat; you can apologize to Mum in the morning. She'll understand."

Draco's eyes landed on the Dark Mark. It was a horrible blemish on his arm, and a permanent one, but Percy's words managed to ease some of the hopelessness he was feeling.

"I'd rather apologize before we go home," Draco told his lover. "I think…" He faltered. "That's right, isn't it?"

Percy planted a kiss against the top of his head, and Draco could tell he was smiling. "Okay, love." His hands left the Dark Mark and traveled to the flat planes of Draco's chest, essentially hugging him from behind; Draco sank into the embrace. "One day at a time, yeah? We'll get through this."

Draco didn't trust himself to speak, so he nodded instead. A light pink blush spread across his pale cheeks, whether from the cold or Percy's chin on his shoulder, he didn't know. But as they stood there, alive despite all the world had thrown at them, he couldn't help but hope that Percy's words were true.

"I love you," Draco whispered. Percy's kiss was the only response he needed. They took one last look at Fred's grave before Apparating back home, ready to try to learn from the past.