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Snape opened the heavy door to his potions room and got blasted in the face by a stench he'd come to associate with his god-forsaken housemate (who had been overstaying his welcome for a little over two months).

'Severus,' he said. Again, there was Voldemort. Bald. Pale. Glaring at him. The usual. 'You're here at last.'

'I thought you disliked potions?'

'Mh. Quite. However, I have found a use for your potion-making skills.' Voldemort cleared his throat dramatically. 'Severus, I would like you to make me a vial of Amortentia.'

He raised an eyebrow. 'Your new plan to assassinate Potter... involves Amortentia?'

Voldemort tapped the cauldron impatiently. 'Get a start on it.'

'Why, my lord?'

'Well, I put a bit of thought into it...'

For once in your life, Snape wanted to say.

'Why, Dumbledore keeps claiming "love" is the most powerful savior. That "love" is the purest, strongest form of magic there is.'

Snape nodded along aimlessly.

'So why not... weaponize "love"?'

'Why Amortentia?'

'It is wizardkind's strongest love potion,' he murmured. 'I don't see why we shouldn't give it a try.'

'If that's what we're going with.' Snape sighed, flicking his wand at one of the potion books on the shelf. It floated over to him, then flipped to a very specific page. He didn't particularly like this potion. The primary reason was probably the horribly explicit illustration demonstrating the potion's effects, which he'd have to see throughout the hour it'd take to brew the potion. The secondary reason was the actual potion itself. The ingredients were fucking expensive, all right? He knew for a fact at least two of his root stores would be depleted by the time he finished. 'What happened to a grandiose killing before a large crowd? Are we really settling for a murder under the sheets?'

'The time for dramatics is over, Severus,' he replied simply. 'I need that boy dead. Now.'

'So what? You plan to make him infatuated with you?'

'Infatuated, yes. With me, no. Of course not. We will need somneone more... plausible. Have them get together, weaken him, then Avada Kedavra, and the Boy Who Lived will be no more...'

'And... if I may ask -' Snape started a blue fire under the cauldron. '- who is this... unfortunate candidate for the receiving end?'

'I wanted to ask you about that.'

'You have the wrong person.'

'I see.'

'Have you considered asking my godson, Draco Malfoy? He is in Potter's year. He must be knowledgeable about Potter.'

'Good idea. Draco will be the receiving end, then.'

Snape spluttered.

*

The potion simmered with a luminous, mother-of-pearl sheen, spirals of steam twisting lazily from its surface. He leaned over the cauldron and inhaled deeply. For a second, the chamber did not smell of mildew and Dark Lords. It smelled of lily-petal perfume, parchment warmed by sunlight, and something sharp and green from the Hogwarts greenhouses... The smell of all things Snape loved most. Frankly, he was surprised there were three things.

He straightened at once. 'My Lord,' he said coolly. 'It is complete.'

Voldemort glided forward, robes whispering dramatically across the stones.

It took everything in him not to sigh at his lord's overdramatic antics.

He inhaled. There was a long pause. Another inhale. The slits of his nostrils flared visibly, but he said nothing.

'Well?' Snape asked.

Voldemort straightened slowly. 'It is defective,' he pronounced.

Snape blinked once. 'It is not.'

Voldemort leaned down again and inhaled so forcefully the potion rippled. He turned back to Snape with a frown.

Snape cleared his throat pointedly. 'What... appears to be the issue, my lord?'

'I smell nothing, Severus.'

That's impossible. Snape thought. Unless...? Unless it's true? Can he really not...?

'It may be relevant, my Lord, that Amortentia operates primarily through scent.' he said quietly.

'Yes?'

'Could it be because you don't... have a nose, my lord?' 

I want that mounted up on a plaque on my wall, thank you very much.

The dungeon went very still. 

Voldemort drew himself up to his full, alarming height. 'I have nostrils.'

'Slits, my Lord.' he felt the need to correct.

'They are perfectly functional.'

Snape’s eyes drifted meaningfully to the complete absence of any protruding cartilage.

Voldemort leaned down again. He inhaled so aggressively the cauldron let out a small, offended bubble. Still nothing.

'Increase the dosage.'

'My Lord, that would only intensify the aroma. But you would still not be able to sniff it.'

'Then intensify it until I can.'

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose — which he was still fortunate enough to possess.

'As you wish...'

He added a final ingredient. The steam thickened instantly, curling upward in shimmering tendrils.

The dungeon filled with scent.

Voldemort's expression froze. (I'm not saying he smelled anything, though.'

From the corridor outside came a sudden clatter. Snape frowned, only to realize he'd invited a couple of people over that morning. Goodness, he couldn't believe he'd forgotten all about them... but it wasn't like he could just leave Voldemort in here with all his precious potions... ugh, damn the time. Lucius Malfoy’s voice drifted through the door, appearing only a few seconds before its master did. '…Why do I suddenly smell expensive hair conditioner and —?'

Voldemort’s smile was thin and terrible. 'Severus.'

'Yes, my Lord?'

'Try it on Lucius first.' 

'Uh...'

'If it works, we shall administer it to Potter.'

*

'Cissy!!!' Lucius practically dashed into the room.

Narcissa, to her credit, actually looked up from her book. 'Are you drunk?' 

'Drunk on love, totally.' He flounced over to his wife and crouched beside the armchair excitedly. Narcissa arched a brow at him. 'Cissy — Cissy, let's have another child!!'