The Longbottom Effect

Snape was lying in bed covered head to toe in cuts, bruises, and bright blue stains, with a bandage around his head, surrounded by his Death Eater friends. Evan Rosier was holding his hand, and one of Lucius Malfoy's house-elves was patting at his forehead with a damp cool cloth.

"Let me get this straight," he said, for at least the third time. "I'm lying here in this pathetic condition, my reputation at stake and my mission failed, because bloody Longbottom dropped an apple core?"

"Actually he threw it into the bushes," said Rosier solemnly. "As he went into the house. I think he wanted his hand free for his wand."

Snape still didn't want to believe it. "He threw an apple core into the bushes, startling a cat, which ran through the fence and was chased by a dog, which after chasing the cat about the neighborhood doubled back and ran under a ladder knocking over some Muggle who was painting the house next door, and the ladder flipped over a muggle conveyance of some sort that was parked there, causing the paint can to be launched through the air and through the window of the house we raided, knocking me out at the precise moment I was about to Stupefy Longbottom?"

The Death Eaters all looked at each other, nodding.

"Yup, that's exactly how it happened," said Avery.

"I don't believe you," said Snape flatly. There was a long pause.

"He's in denial," pronounced Crabbe Sr. finally.

"Well, I suppose he has to start somewhere," said a dubious Malfoy.

Voldemort was not at all pleased.

"You're my best up-and-coming Death Eater," raged the Dark Lord as he paced back and forth in his inner sanctum. "You're supposed to be better than the rest of those fools. They look up to you! That's why I chose you to take Longbottom down."

"And I will, my lord," said Severus Snape fervently. His greasy black hair had fallen over his face and his robes were torn and spattered with blue paint. He was down on his hands and knees. He wouldn't have ordinarily been caught dead in such a humiliating posture, but a few brisk seconds of the Cruciatus curse had changed his mind temporarily. Voldemort did know how to handle an arrogant young Death Eater.

"That one Auror does more damage than all the others put together!" continued Voldemort. "So long as he's in the picture, we'll never get anywhere! I must admit I expected better of you, Snape. Far better."

Snape gritted his teeth, but didn't dare look up. "Yes, my lord. I'm afraid I may have underestimated Longbottom's... er...."

"It's very unusual for me to give people second chances," said Voldemort severely. "However, as you were so promising, I feel I should. We've leaked news of another Muggle attack to occur tonight. Longbottom should be there to stop it. And you will be there to stop him."

It wasn't the first time he'd woken up in Rosier's bed - far from it. But usually Rosier was there too. Also, Rosier's apartment didn't usually reek quite this badly.

"What's that smell?" Snape moaned. "Ugh... like rotten fish!" He had a splitting head ache and he felt filthy and slimy all over. His body ached as if he'd been put on a rack and stretched three or four times before being passed through a Flobberworm's digestive tract.

"It's you," said Rosier's voice apologetically. "I managed to get most of the scales off, but until you're recovered enough for a hot bath...."

Snape's eyes slitted open blearily and he peered about in the darkness, finally managing to locate Rosier sitting on a chair a safe distance away. The pair didn't usually let little things like unwashed bodies get in the way of a good time, but Snape couldn't blame Rosier for hanging back now. The stench was incredible! "What happened?" he whispered. He didn't remember anything about fish. He didn't remember the Muggle attack at all, as a matter of fact. He suspected he'd taken another blow to the head.

"It's kind of complicated. There was this pot of flowers. Geraniums, I think. The red kind," began Rosier. "And when Longbottom passed by he accidentally -"

Snape groaned. "Never mind. I don't want to know."

"Suit yourself," said Rosier.

Snape squirmed around between the sheets, trying to find a comfortable position for his tormented body to lie in. Trying not to wonder how a pot of geraniums could have led to his being in this condition. Trying not to think about how Voldemort would greet this second ignominious failure.

"Crucio!"

Voldemort paced about in dissatisfaction while Snape flopped and thrashed like a fish on the ground. And how appropriate; after all, he still reeked fairly horribly of rotten fish. Snape's robes were even more shredded than before, his hair even greasier than usual due to the fish oil, and there were still blue paint stains from the previous embarrassing failure. He'd been summoned to the Dark Lord's presence before he'd had a chance to get washed up. Or do his laundry, for that matter. Somehow while under the Cruciatus none of that seemed important.

When Voldemort released the spell, Snape lay twitching and trying to catch his breath. He could hear the other Death Eaters enjoying a friendly argument in the next room over.

"He's a genius."

"No, he's a bloody imbecile. Lucky, but an imbecile."

"This goes beyond mere luck. I mean yes, it's luck, but nobody else has luck like this. This guy is so lucky he makes lucky people look like the unluckiest SOB's that ever lived."

"He's a genius, I say. He's brilliant. Nobody can understand his methods, because he's so far above us - so far above his fellow Aurors even -"

"Oh, come off it. If Longbottom is a genius then I am the Queen of Sheba."

The others snickered.

"A thousand apologies... I didn't see you there, your highness."

The snickers became snorting guffaws and chuckles.

"I still think he's going to eat Snape for lunch."

Voldemort hissed, and raised his wand again.

Scarcely 24 hours had passed since Snape's first attempt to "take Longbottom down" had gone horribly wrong. 10 hours since his second attempt had done the same. His opinion of the Auror had undergone a radical change. Whether genius or luck, Longbottom had a definite effect -- the "Longbottom Effect", as it were. The man was a veritable wizarding Rube Goldberg. His slightest actions produced ripples that built into disastrous results.

Frankly, Snape was terrified.

He'd finally figured out what had happened with the geraniums. A geranium deadhead had brushed off onto Longbottom's cloak as he ran past. Once indoors, the deadhead fell off just as another Auror, Alastor Moody, missed Avery with an Incendiary curse. The rebound from the failed curse ignited the dead geranium, incinerating it instantly. Some five minutes of fighting later, when the Death Eaters were in full retreat, Snape ran past the same location and threw down a Wall of Smoke capsule, inadvertently hitting the very same spot the geranium had burned. The geranium ash, being an extremely volatile and unpredictable substance, combined instantly with the squid ink in the potion to produce a Wall of Seafood, which promptly collapsed like a ton of... well, fish... on the unfortunate Snape. If Rosier hadn't come back and dragged him free... well, the results didn't bear thinking about.

"Pull yourself together Severus," he muttered to himself as he crept through the shrubbery surrounding Longbottom's house. "You can't fail the Dark Lord now." He knew if he failed again, Voldemort would kill him to make an example of him. Death Eaters who made a fool of Him never lasted long. Oh, how he longed for a return to the day before when he'd been cocky, on top of the world, and as close to Voldemort's right hand man as anyone had yet come. If only he could go back in time and handle that first attempt against Longbottom differently! One thing was sure, he was going to be very, very careful this time around. This time there would be no mistakes.

Several hundred yards behind him were ten more Death Eaters, who were supposed to take care of anybody else who might be there with Longbottom, then destroy the house and send up the Dark Mark. Snape could hear them crashing through the underbrush like a herd of elephants. It was a good thing the Longbottoms apparently didn't believe in wards and boobytraps.

Snape finally made it to the house and sidled up to a large rear deck which had a pair of French doors opening onto it. The doors had no curtains and stood slightly ajar. They revealed a living room crammed with furniture and knickknacks. He could clearly see Frank Longbottom standing there in front of a mantelpiece sagging under even more knickknacks, talking cheerfully and waving his arms about. The only other occupant of the room was an old woman - his mother, maybe? - holding a newborn baby wrapped in a blanket. She was sitting on a rocking chair well off to the side. Good.

Snape stealthily drew out his wand. The crashing of bushes had nearly caught up to him. It was almost time....

Longbottom's gesticulating hand accidentally came into contact with a huge, ugly vase amongst the junk on the mantelpiece. The vase tipped over, revealing that there was a mirror mounted above the mantel behind all that clutter. Who knew? The vase fell to the floor, smashing into a million pieces.

"Oops," said Longbottom, clearly audible through the open door. "No harm done... nothing Reparo won't fix right up." He patted himself down. "Where's my wand? I seem to have left it in the bedroom."

Snape surged forward in excitement. Longbottom was wandless and reinforcements were seconds away. Now was the moment to strike!

Long hours spent practicing slamming doors open and startling everyone paid off. As Snape burst inside, Longbottom and the old woman were caught totally by surprise, the former spinning about gaping at him and the latter clutching the baby and trying to flatten herself farther into the rocking-chair.

"Imperio!" roared Snape, aiming. Longbottom's boot heel slid on the broken shards of the vase and the big man crashed down on his arse. Snape's curse consequently shot over his head and struck the section of mirror that had been revealed by the missing vase. The curse rebounded off the glass and hit Snape square between the eyes. He staggered back, stunned. A dreamy, dizzy state came over him.

In the next instant, every window in the place exploded inward in a shower of glass, and Death Eaters invaded with wands blazing.

"Run!! Hide!!!" screamed Longbottom. The old woman clutching the baby got up and bolted like a rabbit.

So, perforce, did Snape.

Voldemort paced back and forth, back and forth. His wand tapped ominously yet somehow nervously in the palm of his other hand, taptaptaptaptaptaptap. Every once in a while he glanced down at the prostrate Snape, red eyes smoldering, one eyelid twitching spasmodically.

"Six," hissed Voldemort bitterly. "Six of my Death Eaters were lost because of your failure. It's only because of Macnair's quick thinking that we didn't lose everybody! And where were you? Hiding."

"I-I-I was under Imperius, my lord," whimpered Snape.

"Cast by you, you fool!" thundered the Dark Lord. "And to think yesterday I thought of you as my most perfect, my most supreme Death Eater! Oh, you had such a future ahead of you."

Snape attempted to grovel further, but he was already pressed to the floor as low as he could go. His master's disappointment was almost harder to bear than the Cruciatus curse. Almost.

"Needless to say," said Voldemort in disgust, "I am not going to be able to trust you with anything important after this."

"But master -"

"Silence! When I want to hear your bleating, I will use my wand!"

Snape swallowed the rest of his sentence.

"No," continued Voldemort, "I think I shall give Macnair the opportunity to eliminate Longbottom instead. Yes, he's shown initiative of late."

Snape closed his eyes. His coveted position was lost. Now his only hope was to remain alive.

"Unless... perhaps I will give you one more chance?"

Snape scrabbled to his knees, begging. "Oh master... I will not fail you! Longbottom will die! I swear it!"

"Hmm," said Voldemort, taking in this pathetic display. "Very well. The Longbottoms will be at Hogwarts tomorrow, to put their son's name down. You will infiltrate its defenses and kill all three of them when the moment is right."

Snape's eyes widened. "But my lord, that's imposs -"

"Crucio!"

"Nyuuughhh!"

"This is your last chance, Snape," the Dark Lord hissed, sneering down at Snape's writhing form. "If you fail me again, I will destroy you with excruciating slowness. So you might want to try just a little bit harder this time."

"Y-yes my lord," Snape gibbered.

"And for God's sake, clean yourself up!" barked Voldemort. "You stink!"

Suicide mission.

That's what it was - there was no way around that. Infiltrate Hogwarts defenses? What a joke!

As they said their final farewells, Rosier had advised Snape to flee. That's what he would do in Snape's place. Snape was seriously considering it, too. He was no Gryffindor to throw his life away. The trouble was, if he simply vanished into the countryside, he would be a hunted man for the rest of his life. And the longer he managed to stay free, the longer it would take for him to die when Voldemort finally caught up to him. He shuddered.

It was a beautiful sunny day in Hogsmeade and Hogwarts was only a short walk away. Snape huddled on a park bench like a tattered lump of freshly-scrubbed roadkill and contemplated his options. Trying to kill Longbottom at Hogwarts was clearly a waste of his own life. But if he wanted to flee Voldemort, he needed some kind of protection. Who was powerful enough to grant that?

A shadow fell over him and he looked up to see Frank Longbottom and his wife strolling past, baby in arms. Snape's heart started hammering and he stood up involuntarily, his hand going automatically to his wand pocket. Could it be this easy? Could he dispatch the three of them here at the edge of Hogsmeade and be away before anyone could stop him?

But as he started to follow them, he saw an apple tree ahead, and a bubbling brook nearby, and some stones along the trail. His imagination assailed him with a thousand ways Longbottom's blasted good luck - or whatever it was - could take advantage of the complicated setting. No, best to wait until they were in a simpler, more restricted environment. Maybe Voldemort was right about the hallways of Hogwarts being the place for it.

The Longbottoms chattered away cheerfully, handing their chubby brat back and forth, ignoring the dark man skulking behind them. As they entered the forest, Snape eyed the dead limbs overhead and the rustling leaves all around and felt even less inclined to attack than before. It was just too unsafe. He couldn't bring himself to do it yet. But... to do it in Hogwarts? Insanity. He stuck close behind his targets, avoiding looking at them, his wand hand jiggling nervously in his pocket.

Some time later found him in exactly the same position, in exactly the same predicament, only he was rapidly running out of options. The three of them, with Mrs. Longbottom carrying the baby, had reached the gargoyle that led to Dumbledore's office.

They paused there, a bit awkwardly, and then Frank Longbottom turned and asked Snape point blank, "Are you following us?"

Snape gripped his wand hard, heart rising into his throat. Do something! his mind shrieked at him. Aaahh! Aaah! was all his gut instincts were offering. "Er... no?" he stammered.

"Hey," said Mrs. Longbottom, who was also an Auror but a much more conventional one. "Aren't you Severus Snape?"

Uh oh.

"Hey, you're right, it is Severus Snape," growled Frank Longbottom.

Snape whipped his wand out in a panic. Time was up. He had no other choice.

Mrs. Longbottom had her wand out immediately too. Snape jabbed his weapon in her direction as she dodged to shield the baby behind her husband.

"Expelliarmos!" cried Snape.

Snape's spell was aimed at Mrs. Longbottom's wand arm, but was met unexpectedly by Frank Longbottom's instead; he'd gotten his wand stuck and was trying to pull it loose of his robes. The spell glanced off his wristwatch and was deflected over his shoulder and down the hallway. There was a crash and a tinkle of glass, followed by the hoot of an indignant owl.

"Bloody hell!" exclaimed Snape, his voice squeaking up an extra octave.

"Aha!" exclaimed Longbottom, as his hand finally popped free with the wand.

Snape backpedaled in a panic. "Avada -"

Something heavy flew out of nowhere and slammed solidly into his wand arm. Or, more specifically, onto his wand. It was a copy of the Daily Prophet which had apparently been surrendered by the owl and his wand was now quite firmly wedged into the center of the roll.

Snape let out an incoherent shriek and hurled himself sideways, narrowly dodging a one-two whammy of Stupefy and Petrificus Totalus from the husband-wife team. He slammed to the floor at the feet of Dumbledore's gargoyle and scrambled around behind it on all fours, clawing frantically at the newspaper trying to get it off his wand. Naturally it tore off in strips instead of the entire thing popping off. Of all the rotten luck!

The Longbottoms' baby began to wail earsplittingly, completing the shattering of Snape's nerves.

The next thing that happened, however, was the least expected at all.

The gargoyle opened.

Snape found himself face-to-knees with the most powerful wizard alive, feared even by Voldemort: Headmaster Dumbledore himself. The Longbottoms froze, presumably in the act of cursing Snape in the back. He wasn't about to look and find out. Even the baby silenced suddenly, in mid-scream. The bulk of the shredded newspaper slid off Snape's wand to land on the floor with a thud.

"Who was next?" asked Dumbledore pleasantly, surveying the scene with a sort of mild mannered surprise.

Snape followed Dumbledore up the moving stairs, feeling rather shaky-kneed with reaction. He'd made a pathetic show of himself, insisting breathlessly that he was in fact next, while the Longbottoms tried to tell Dumbledore he was a Death Eater they were in the middle of apprehending.

He was still trying to figure out how much of that Dumbledore had believed... and what he was going to actually say to the man.

As they entered the Headmaster's office, he stuck his now-bared wand in his pocket and glanced about discreetly for somewhere to throw away a bit of newspaper still clutched in his hand. Somehow he didn't think throwing it on the floor would be a good idea.

"Please, have a seat," said Dumbledore cordially.

Snape slunk into the chair, hoping he didn't look like as much of a panicky, disheveled liar as he felt. If ever there was a time to play a hand well, it was right now.

"Lemon drop?"

Having been well trained by Voldemort, Snape meekly took one. "Thank you," he whispered, noticing he sounded terrified.

Dumbledore settled back, apparently satisfied by the pleasantries. "Now, you were interested in the position?" His eyes flicked down to the strip of newspaper in Snape's hand.

"N... er...." Snape's eyes darted downward, then uncertainly back at Dumbledore's, and then he did a double take and stared at the bit of newspaper. It contained, by some freak of chance, a classified advertisement. The advertisement read:

IMMEDIATE
POSITION AVAILABLE
HOGWARTS
POTIONS PROFESSOR
HOUSING-HEALTH BENEFITS
SPENDING MONEY
TENURE POSSIBLE
INQUIRE IN PERSON
8AM to 9AM
10 AUGUST ONLY

Snape looked back up and met Dumbledore's twinkling eyes in utter disbelief.

Eleven years later, Frank Longbottom's son Neville came to Hogwarts as a First Year. But that is another story.