Disclaimer: I can only dream of owning Harry Potter.

~I haven't been writing Snarry for too terribly long, so bear with me. If you're looking for the good and dirty ones, I'll get to those eventually, I suppose. Again, bear with me.

Enjoy!

"Potter!" the harsh voice of the sallow Potions Master bit out from over his left shoulder. When had he gotten up from his desk?
Harry jumped and blushed a furious shade of crimson, stowing the objects away quickly. Unfortunately, it was not quick enough.
"And why, exactly, do you believe playing with dolls is more important than your dismal potions mark?" the older man drawled, amused by the embarrassment evident on the boy's features.
Harry's blood boiled in anger. "They're clay figurines. A charms assignment, sir. My potion is simmering for fifteen minutes, I had down time."
"No such thing. Constant vigilance, Potter," he leaned over the cauldron and grimaced. "Exactly my point. This is an abomination. Clean it up. Detention, tonight."
Harry groaned and grumbled under his breath as he stowed his now unnecessary ingredients and packed up his cauldron, complaining to his friends all the while.
"Now how will I ever finish charms? This is one assignment I'm actually rather interested in." He had been looking forward to making his own wizards chess set. It was a combined Transfiguration and Charms assignment. They transfigured clay into figurines, and colored them before bewitching them alive. He had been working diligently all week, and almost had them all done. He just couldn't quite get the black knights just right; they always ended up coming out terribly harsh.

As he scraped the bottom of the cauldrons in detention, he glanced over at the figure of Snape, head bent as he graded papers. He looked somehow intimately familiar, and Harry could not place his finger on it. He shrugged, thinking he was simply overtired and got back to work.
"Potter," the low call came as a surprise. Harry halted his work and turned towards the man, finding a pair of onyx eyes trained on him. His gaze pierced through Harry, and he found a strange, unexplainable tension in his stomach.
"Sir?"
He beckoned the boy over with one long, pale finger. As Harry came closer, he smelled a faint scent of something that reminded him of the fireplaces throughout the castle, with a faint twist of something floral; he closed his eyes momentarily, savoring the scent that he found so alluring. What was happening to him?
"This paper, on Amortentia," he started. "Who wrote this for you?" He was neither accusing or callous, and this caught Harry off guard.
"No one, sir. I wrote it myself."
"Yes, the style does seem to fit. All together, a C paper." he mused, seemingly unsatisfied with his answer, or was he completely satisfied?
"Sir?"
"Potter, are you aware of the wood that burns in the fireplace in my private quarters?" he asked suddenly, looking intently at the boy, malice gone from his tone. The question confused Harry and he drew his brow together.
"No, sir."
Snape simply gazed at him a moment longer, before looking down at the paper still held in his grasp.
"Cedar," he said quietly.
Harry froze, everything falling into place in his mind, like pieces of a puzzle. A very large puzzle; one you didn't know what to do with once complete. He leaned in closer, remembering what he had described smelling as he leaned over a brewed batch of Amortentia. Cedar and woodsmoke, with a faint hint of lilac. He leaned in closer to the dour Potions Master and inhaled, gasping.
"My sentiments exactly," he said slowly, lifting his head to gaze at the emerald eyes now inches from his own.
The boy leaned in suddenly and placed his lips against the old Slytherin's. As much as he detested the lot of them, Severus did have to give it to the Gryffindors for their foolish bravery. As he kissed him back, he stood up, and grabbed Harry's chin as he broke away to catch his breath. Harry smiled slightly before climbing on top of the desk and resuming their broken embrace. He found his Professor gave no resistance.

Severus rolled over in the morning and reached a hand out only to have it land with a soft thump on the bed. He reached out farther and searched for the boy who had been sleeping soundly next to him. Coming up empty, he opened one eye and glowered. He was dreadfully alone.
Sitting up, he noticed something on the pillow that Harry's head had occupied not too long ago. He picked up the figure and examined the note the boy had left him.
'Better than any white knight'
He grumbled under his breath. These damn Gryffindors never made any sense. He examined the figurine and noticed that it was a black knight from a set of wizards chess. As he analyzed it closer, he grinned despite himself; for there in his hand sat a perfect replica of himself.