Summary: A series of oneshots in the universe of 'The Rebel Snakes', exploring magic in other cultures, the intersection of magic and Muggle worlds, and the dichotomy of magic and faith. Mostly Gold-centric, with frequent appearances by the trio, the Slytherins and various others. Features linguistically brilliant Harry, morally confused Malfoy, flirty Myrtle, social justice Hermione, chessmaster Ron and BAMF Neville.

Part 4: Just before Christmas in their fifth year, David and Hermione do something the elves really appreciate. Gold is not always a serious intellectual and Hermione is her father's daughter.

It didn't surprise Hermione even a little bit that he could sing. She probably could have guessed from the way he spoke his Hebrew incantations, if it had ever occurred to her to wonder before now. If anything, it sickened her a little bit, because she was trying to put to bed the last few irritating traces of the mind-crush she'd had on him and Gold, in his typical contrary way, was making it incredibly difficult. Probably it wasn't on purpose, but you never really knew with him.

What did surprise her was his choice of song.

"Ooh, darlin', give me one more chance-"

"The Jackson Five? Really?"

"What?"

Hermione had half-expected him to get embarrassed when he realized he was singing aloud, as most people would. Somehow he'd managed to make her feel foolish instead. They were walking the secret passageway that led to the kitchens, carrying bags and bags of small woolen hats. "I... would have expected... I don't know, something more complex."

"Don't slag the Jackson Five, Granger. Tiny MJ had more soul in his prepubescent little feet than most artists have in their whole bodies."

"Alright, I'll rephrase that - something less wholesome."

"Less wholesome? I could do you some Spice Girls."

The mental image reduced Hermione to giggles. "You're kidding."

His poker face was impeccable. She shoved him. "Come on. You're far too much an intellectual to be caught dead singing Muggle bubblegum pop."

"I like bubblegum pop."

"Sure you do. You're testing me. You just want me to admit to liking the Spice Girls so you can feel superior. You probably like Nirvana and that sort of alt rock that's very smart but also difficult to listen to."

"I'd love for you to admit to liking the Spice Girls," said Gold, looking very earnest. "Then I wouldn't be the only one. I had my angsty Nirvana phase in third year."

Merlin, maybe he wasn't kidding. "I... they're a very guilty pleasure."

"None of my pleasures are ever guilty," said Gold, "life's too short."

Hermione thought that explained a lot about him. "I'm surprised you listen to Muggle music in the first place, honestly."

"Why, because I'm ostensibly a pureblood?"

She hoped that didn't seem too awful. "Well... yes. Most purebloods don't seem to know a thing about Muggles."

Gold laughed. "Granger, you overestimate the wizarding world. We don't have enough people to have an independent arts scene. We're parasitic on Muggles for ninety per cent of our culture and not at all fond of admitting it."

"What about the Wyrd Sisters? Or that, ah, what's her name, that awful Warbeck woman?"

"Oh, sure, we have a few musical acts, but they're derivative. 1960s Muggle hippie counterculture? We nicked the rock'n'roll sound, dark magic became an acceptable, or at least a popular, song topic, the popularity of recreational potions skyrocked and wizards started cutting their hair very short."

Hermione snorted. "Shouldn't that be growing their hair long?"

"Neyn, they'd always had long hair. We figured out that the Muggles were changing their styles and then we got confused and did it backwards. But we got the core of it right - it was a break from tradition. And now it's considered terribly posh and old-fashioned. Professor Snape's the only wizard under sixty I've ever seen wear long hair. What was I saying?"

"One mention of the word 'hair' and you're totally derailed."

"You love my hair. Don't lie."

Hermione wasn't entirely sure he was wrong. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of admitting it. "You were saying about magical music being parasitic."

"Well, the wizard artists all sort of slap you in the face with their magic-ness, don't they? D'you really think every song would be loaded with spell references if we had a thriving musical industry?"

"It has to make a great point about being magic for the sake of its own identity."

"As do we all. Magical music acts try very hard to remind you because when you get down to it, most of us aren't even aware that what we're listening to is Muggle in origin. It all gets played on the radio, and we don't pay attention. Take Malfoy, for example. He's still very much in his angsty Nirvana phase."

"How d'you know that?"

"I share a dormitory segment with him." Gold made a face. "I think I probably got into bad Muggle pop in the first place just because it irritates him."

Hermione knew she should not encourage him to pick any more fights, but she didn't trust herself not to laugh at the thought of Malfoy's face in reaction to 'Wannabe', so she held her tongue and changed the topic. "So if most wizards don't even realize, why do you know?"

"My family likes to keep one foot in the Muggle world," said Gold, clearly smug over his own culturedness.

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. "So you know your Muggle music pretty well."

"I'd like to think so."

"Are you familiar with the Grateful Dead?"

He looked at her blankly. "Er-"

"The Who."

"Who?"

"David Bowie?"

"Of course I know Bowie."

"Because he was, in fact, a wizard."

"Ah. Aaaactually that explains a great deal."

"Tom Waits?"

"No?"

"Ben Folds."

"Why are all these people named after verbs?"

"Simon & Garfunkel?"

"I knew a Garfunkel in Hebrew School."

"So you don't actually know anything about the history of Muggle music at all."

"I know every song the Beatles ever wrote!"

"So do things that live under rocks." Hermione had shown her true colours; despite her occasional dalliances into pop (a girl needed an outlet sometimes), she was, in truth, a Classic Rocker. It was the fault of her father, who'd supplemented her flute lessons with a thorough grounding in psychedelia. He was of the true hippie generation. It was one of the few things left that they had at all in common.

"Alright, because I'm very kind, I'll give you one more chance. Bob Dylan?"

Gold grinned. "Now him I know."

Hermione wasn't taking any chances. "Prove it."

"When the rain is blowin' in your face
And the whole world is on your case-"

Bollocks. Damn him to hell, him and his strangely raspy, tuneful voice. She stared very hard at the ground ahead of her feet.

"I could offer you a warm embrace-"

"Gold?" Hermione's voice was urgent.

He stopped singing, opening his eyes. "Yeah?"

"You need to not sing that song."

"Why?"

"Because I might do something stupid, like snog you blind, and we both agreed that was a bad idea."

"Oh." They were both embarrassed now, though for different reasons. The passageway went silent. Hermione contemplated her shoes with such intensity that she was half-certain they'd burst into flames. It wasn't irrational, it wasn't her fault - surely anyone on earth would be at least a little attractive while they were singing that song. And it suited him a little too well. You ain't seen nothin' like me yet.

Just as she was beginning to be certain the silence would kill her, he quietly began another song.

"Come, gather 'round, people, wherever you roam
And admit that the waters around you have grown
And accept it that soon you'll be drenched to the bone-"

Ah, yes. That was why they were down here, wasn't it? Change. Hermione laughed, and joined in.

They did not stop when they arrived at the kitchens, tickled the pear to enter, hefted the bags of clothes through the portrait-hole.

"The line it is drawn, the curse it is cast-"

The elves looked up almost as one from their work, and blanched to see Hermione's face. They knew her, they knew it was her who had left the woolen hats about the common room for them to find. Only Dobby wore a smile.

"Miss shouldn't be here!"

"Back to her house, please, miss, we are not wanting-"

For a moment, Hermione was stung and intimidated by their stares and wanted nothing so much as to slink back to her common room and forget that she had made herself so hated. But Gold was still singing beside her, and it gave her strength.

"The slow one now will later be fast
As the present now will later be past-"

"We are not wanting clothes! Take them back!"

Without stopping to explain they made for the great woodstove at one end of the room, which heated the many ovens. Gold opened the door, releasing a wave of dry heat.

"The order is rapidly fadin'
And the first one now will later be last-"

One-by-one they tipped the bags of clothes - all Hermione's weeks of work - into the fire.

"-For the times they are a-changin'."

The elves burst into applause.

Hermione couldn't remember the last time she had been applauded. Pink from the praise and the heat of the flame, she smiled at her feet. She raised her voice over the cheers. She had prepared what she was going to say, remembering everything Gold had told her. "I'm very sorry I didn't listen to what you all wanted - Miss Granger is very sorry. She's going to do things differently now, and listen to the people she wants to help."

A little bow, and she stepped back, amid cheers and high, squeaking whistles. Gold, to her surprise, was clapping too.

Dobby bobbed over to them like a helium-filled balloon. "That was a very very good speech, miss. Dobby is sure they will like miss more now. And miss did not say 'I'!"

Hermione glowed.

"What do the pamphlets say, Dobby?"

"They say, many house elves are not treated like proper creatures, Mister Gold sir, even though we are very powerful! And that it is not right! And that He Who Must Not Be Named thinks elves are scum and so we must prove him wrong!"

"Mister Gold likes the sound of that," said Gold, with relish.

"Dobby thinks the next step is to remind elves they serve better when they are rested and content."

"Yes, Dobby - to take care of their masters they must take care of themselves! Tell them that!"

The little elf cleared his throat. "Dobby would like a favour in return for helping."

Hermione had to admit to herself - even with all her pleas for elves to demand payment, it wasn't what she had expected. "Er - anything you wish, if it's in my power. Er. In Miss Granger's power."

"How many are there in S.P.E.W.?" He enunciated each letter. Nobody had ever done that before.

"Well - Harry and Ron are sort of - " she slumped in defeat. "Really it's just us two."

That seemed to please Dobby very well. "Dobby would like to be the president of S.P.E.W., Miss Granger."

"Of a two-person club?"

"Dobby would rather familiarize himself with the leadership role in a low-stakes setting, miss."

Behind her, Gold stifled a snort of laughter. Hermione fought not to let her consternation show up on her face. Give up presidency of S.P.E.W.? The group was her brainchild, even if it was her sadly misshapen brainchild.

But she could hardly keep the role of leadership in elf rights out of the hands of the elves. And they were a serious social justice organization. She shook his tiny hand. "Agreed, Dobby. I'd be proud to call you the president of our group."

"Does Dobby get a special badge?" He pointed to the S.P.E.W. badge pinned to his chest, comically oversized on his tiny body.

"Don't see why not," said Gold, nudging Hermione.

"I'll see to making one," said Hermione.

"Can Dobby keep this badge too?"

"Sure?"

"Dobby likes badges."

In the end, Hermione even showed willing by eating a few of the Christmassy tea-cakes the elves brought them. Gold showed rather more than willing, and they left with a handful wrapped up for later, and a steaming mug of cocoa each. Ten minutes later they were walking along the bridge. A heavy, silent snow had begun to fall.

"Is it weird?" Hermione asked, out of the blue. "Being Jewish while the rest of us get excited over Christmas?"

"As a kid I felt left-out," Gold admitted. "Think I felt left out of most things, really. Now I'm too proud," he added, with a wry grin. "I don't want your stupid over-commercialized holiday."

"What about Hannukah?"

"Hannukah really isn't very important. American Jews blew it out of proportion so their kiddlies wouldn't get sad."

"Still, though - do you ever wish it got paid a bit more attention here?" She'd been thinking about this a while. Ever since the first Christmas decorations had begun to go up and she'd noticed a scowl on his face.

Gold shook his head. "You don't need another cause to champion, Granger, you've done enough for me."

They paused at the center of the bridge, sitting with their backs up against the stone to enjoy the view. The river gulley that ran through the Hogwarts grounds was nothing short of magnificent in the falling snow, a great tunnel of falling flakes that seemed to extend forever into the distance. Hermione shivered. Gold's massive, well-cut pea coat was a far better match for the weather than her light cloak.

"Here, lean against me, I'm warm," Gold suggested.

Hermione bit her lip, and shifted to rest her head and shoulders against his broad torso.

Merlin, he was comfy. Warm and soft. Gold put an arm loosely around her shoulders - holding in even more heat - and tucked his chin over her head. They sat in silence, their breath steaming in the cold air.

Within minutes, Hermione was asleep.

Gold didn't move for a very long time. He wondered if heartbreak was supposed to feel this peaceful.

"Hey, Gold, did you see?"

Anthony Goldstein was the only other member of the D.A. who'd ever seemed vaguely put off by the room of requirement's sudden growths of holly and mistletoe. They were, in fact, extremely distantly related, descended from the same family of jewelers in the same tiny schtetl about three hundred years back. It wasn't enough to make them want to have anything to do with each other, because as far as Gold was concerned Anthony was a precious little swot, but it was enough to keep them coolly pleasant to each other.

"See what?"

"There's a menorah in the Great Hall. Big one."

"Damn it, Granger."

And when Hannukah actually started, a different audio tape - charmed so that they would work in a wizard radio, Gold had no idea how she had done that - showed up in his dorm room every evening.

It turned out The Who were really really good. And Malfoy hated them almost as much as he hated the Spice Girls.

This one was very much inspired by the Only1Noah cover of "Make You Feel My Love" feat. Jonathan Korszyk. If you can get through that and not feel a bit like Hermione does, well, you've a stronger heart than mine.

Ahh, the '90s. You were not a good time for music.

To be honest I think there's a tiny part in all of us that still honestly likes the Spice Girls.