Draco was tired. His arm hurt, his head was throbbing, and the bruises on his torso still stung viciously. It had been a miserable day, and, in his opinion, could only get worse. Which is why he was so surprised when the boy who, moments before, had been waving his wand about in Draco's face, decided that rather than hexing the blonde, he would lean in, grab Draco firmly by the collar, and snog him.
Harry wasn't quite sure what had happened either. All he knew was that he was sick of the animosity. Sick of pretending that he enjoyed loathing on principal. Just sick of pretending in general. And standing there, in the Prefect's bathroom, kissing Draco seemed like the right thing to do. And judging by Draco's response, it was.
The two stood there for a few long moments. Harry still clinging desperately to Draco's robes, his knuckles white… Draco melting slowly into the kiss, until Harry released him, his breath shaky and uneven.
"I can't do this anymore," He said, searching Draco's face. The Slytherin boy opened his mouth, and then closed it again, shaking his head.
"I know."