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.

This is in response to requests for more of the snakes and more Avi.

Part 7: In the last month of his second year, Gold finds he's better with followers than he is with friends, loses a book, gets it back, and forms the nucleus of the snakes.


Didon Pettyfer's mother was French, a blue-eyed Beauxbatons beauty queen whose blood status was good enough to excuse her family the crime of being financially middle-class. Her formal education was in potions at L'institut Vulgate in Paris, but she was no notable scholar. Not in that subject, anyway. Her true education was in etiquette, and it was this that forged her a place in the world. She was elegant and eloquent in French, English and German, could sing charmingly and cook fine meals, knew how to dress and when to laugh or make conversation or bat her eyes demurely. Above all she knew how to hold her tongue.

Didon's father was a Slytherin of older money and better blood than her mother, which acquitted him of the crime of being twenty years her senior. He travelled often, moving high-demand and dangerous potions materials around the globe, or at least that was what it said on his business card. They didn't talk about what he really did. All the children learned that lesson from their mother and never thought to question it.

She was the youngest of them. Her elder brothers called her petite-sous-pieds, and petite and underfoot she was. Her height never reached past four-foot-nine. Given a low gust, she would blow away. She was eager for attention and approval, full of questions that nobody could answer. Her mother would shush her harshly before the first word. "Chuchotte, ma belle! You are much prettier to look at that you are to hear!"

It was said with love, and Didon understood that looking pretty was a witch's art and aspiration. It came to her easily; she had a pleasant face and a light tread. Like her mother she would never have to work to maintain her slim figure. She watched her mother closely, and learned what she could get with a smile and a flicker of her lashes. In her first year at Hogwarts she was careful to be sorted into Slytherin ("Merlin's beard," the sorting hat murmered into her ear, "are you trying to think of your tricksiest moments, just to sway me towards Slytherin? What a very Slytherin thing to do, you lucky little devil."). When she initially excelled at transfiguration and charms, working hard like her brothers did in an effort to outdo them, she was chastized instead of praised. "Your posture!" her mother would cluck. "Too much time in the library! Have you no friends to pass your time with?"

It wasn't fair. Her brothers got to read all they liked, and be powerful, and all she had was the power of a pretty smile. Didon wanted more. She wanted to be more. But if she was not pretty and demure and proper, she was nothing at all.


"Excuse me, monsieur."

The second-year boy sitting in her place in the common room - her special place, close to the fire, with the lovely, polished oak armrests carved in the shape of elegant foliage scrolls, the one that reminded her of home - had a small thin face and a twitchy manner. He stared up at her for a moment. Didon knew by rumour that he was a Muggleborn, and he looked far too nervous to take any foolish risks. But instead of quietly getting up and leaving with his tail between his legs, as Didon had expected, he glanced over at the boy sitting next to him.

"You're excused," said the other boy, without looking up from his book.

Others in her house would have sneered at him. Didon was too well-bred to sneer externally, but in the privacy of her head she sneered to the moon and back. The second of the boys was well-groomed but fat and consequentially homely, wearing Muggle clothes, lounging bonelessly in his seat, reading and eating an apple. Like he owned the place. He wasn't from any pureblood family she had amongst her acquaintance. Muggle clothes might have been acceptable in other parts of the castle, but they weren't decent here in the Slytherin common room. His whole existence seemed somehow indecent. She imagined his chair breaking under him.

She smiled prettily at the fat boy. "I was speaking to your friend." As if on cue, the Muggleborn squirmed and started to get up.

"I'm not so much Tasker's friend as his legal team," said the fat boy. "Sit down, Tasker."

Didon huffed and turned to the smaller boy. "I'm terribly sorry, but that is my usual place - I'm sure you didn't mean to intrude, but if you could-"

"Do you know what the phrase 'common room' actually means?" the fat boy interrupted, looking up from his book to meet her gaze directly.

Didon was taken aback. "...Well, it's a room for the common usage of the house."

He bit into the apple with a loud crunch. "Correct, and yet somehow still completely empty of meaning" he said, around the apple. "The word 'common'."

Something about her tone seemed to imply she was an idiot. Didon was no idiot. "Public. Universal."

"Antonym?"

"Private or unique."

Tasker was watching them like it was the Muggle game with the rackets and the back-and-forth green ball.

"Thus the contents of the common room are not to be made private, but to serve in the common wellbeing."

She scowled. Her friends were nearby, tittering, and she wasn't sure if it were directed at her or him. "That's all very well and good, but tradition dictates I sit there."

The boy leaned forward. Throughout the whole conversation his expression had not changed. Neither had the directness of his eye contact. His eyes were very dark brown, almost black. They reflected firelight. "And that's your trump card? 'Because it was, so it shall continue to be'?"

"Traditions hold the world together."

"A pot may hold clay for a young tree, but eventually the tree's roots will shatter it. Whatever you're afraid of, the chair will not make it better."

He was making her unsure of herself. She hated it. It was like standing in her brothers' shadows yet again, letting them call her petite-sous-pieds in front of all her friends.

"You're taking liberties above your station, Gold," warned Carolingia Rowle, taking a place at Didon's side. Didon knew from her smirk that this 'Gold' was an outsider, somehow. Didon knew she'd won. Not even the purest purebloods defied Carolingia Rowle.

"Well, I'll have to cut that out, or I might have an original thought. What's my station, Carolingia?"

"You're nothing but an upstart nobody but I didn't think even you were fool enough to defend a Mudblood."

"Obviously you don't know me very well."

Carolingia's eyes glittered. "Haven't you heard the news? Enemies of the Heir beware. Muggleborn filth and Mudblood-lovers alike."

Tasker made a small involuntary sound. Gold simply locked eyes with Carolingia and bit into the apple again, with a defiant crunch.

"Disgusting." Carolingia turned on her heel and flounced away - which seemed to delight the fat boy immeasurably. A smirk spread across his face, and he returned to his book. "Don't let her bait you, Tasker, she knows no more about it than any of us."

"That's easy for you to say," objected Tasker. Didon was surprised to find he had a voice, and not a little, wheedly one either. "The Heir wouldn't go after you."

"It'll have to, if it wants to get to you," answered Gold. They both seemed to have quite forgotten she was there - or were ignoring her on purpose.

Didon didn't like being ignored. She cleared her throat. "I'm not afraid of change. I just like that seat."

"And you like simpering to Rowle, too, I'm sure."

"I don't simper. Carolingia's my friend. And you are very rude."

"Better that than a liar. Come on, you've a brain, why don't you use it? Do you like agreeing with everything she says and trying to catch the eye of any rich pureblood that'll have you, even though you could out-think him in a heartbeat?"

She glared at him, stuck for words. He was the most impetuous person she had ever met.

He grinned, and got to his feet. "Here, then. I can see I'm not going to change your mind. I hope your traditions keep you safe from all the bad new ideas and complicated thoughts. Come on, Tasker, let's go jelly-legs Hector Claude."

She knew he was mocking her, but she didn't know how to respond. She glared at them as they left. It was only when he was through the portrait hole and gone that she noticed he'd left his book. Treatise of Human Nature, by David Hume sat on the surface of the sought-after chair like a giant accusatory eye.

Didon sat down and flipped it open.


"Staying out of trouble?"

Avi, only a fifth-year, was already the best potion-maker in Hufflepuff house. Which wouldn't normally mean much, but Avi really was skilled. David watched with a needle of envy as his brother's slim, sure hands measured out bloodroot and cut it into precise, perfect lengths. He said nothing in reply. He hated lying to Avi.

"Alright, you don't have to answer," said Avi, easily. "How about friends? Lots of those?"

David thought about it. Tasker hung around a lot, but they had never stopped calling each other by their surnames. David doubted very much Tasker would have bothered if he didn't know that David could protect him from the upper-year Slyths. "Slytherins don't have friends, Avi, we have followers and allies."

Avi smiled down at the rat tails he was carefully skinning. Occupied with the work in his hands, he didn't seem to notice that David wasn't kidding. "Alright, those then. Lots?"

"Enough."

"I knew you'd be fine."

Part of him glowed in the warmth of his brother's faith in him. Part of him wanted to slap the skinning knife out of his hands and force him to look David in the eye, Maybe then perfect, lovely, thrice-charmed Avriel would be able to see that he wasn't fine, that nothing was fine, Slytherin was a den of cutthroat liars and David was profoundly alone.

His brother's dark, laughing eyes remained fixed on the rat tails.

"I want you to stay out of the corridors when you're alone," said Avi, after a moment. "They're saying it's Muggleborns, but Salazar Slytherin would have fancied we were just as bad. If you got petrified, khas v'kholileh, there might be complications - "

"Thank you, mother."

"Well I'm sorry, David, but it's my job to look after you."

"Because you allllways know better than me how to do that."

"David…"

"Isn't it already Samson's job?"

"Samson's busy with his N.E.W.T.S."

Of course he was. Samson had his N.E.W.T.S. and Avi had his O.W.L.s and they were both off to have bright, beautiful futures in magical healing. Time enough to care so much about his wellbeing that they wrapped their whole careers around his fate but not enough to look him in the fucking eye.

David scowled at the floor. He knew he was being stupid. It wasn't Avi's fault. "I won't go roaming the halls on my own." Much. You see what happens when you play mother, Avi? I have to lie to you. You're working yourself to the bone to heal the world and especially me and I'm lying through my teeth.

"Thanks, David," said Avi, distractedly, "You're doing really great."

David left without saying goodbye. If his brothers loved him too much to respect him, he'd go to those who respected him but did not love him.


Thomas Tasker felt like he had a target painted on his back. According to the admissions ledger that sat in the library, he was one of only ten in Slytherin house whose status was anything less than quarter-blood and one of only seven true Muggleborns. The numbers did not fill him with confidence.

When he could, he followed Gold around like a second shadow. It probably made no sense, hiding from the Heir behind a second-year, but Gold was close to top of their year and he seemed to have total faith in his own abilities. Thomas thought he was mental, but couldn't help believing it himself, after a while. Gold could do things with magic that nobody else knew how to do. He could do things with just words and looks that nobody else knew how to do.

Thomas knew a leader when he saw one.

They were in the library, hidden near the back amongst all the old books of pureblood history and geneology. Searching for the word 'heir', for references to the Chamber of Secrets, anything.

"There's something here about a hidden room full of privies that only opens when you really need to go," said Thomas.

"Probably not our boy. The Heir writes on the wall with blood. He's dramatic. I doubt he'd stoop to privies. Beneath his dignity, see?" They kept looking.

"If it's really attacking Muggleborns, we should talk to the other ones in Slytherin," said Tasker, after a moment. Safety in numbers.

Gold looked up at him sharply. "There's other Muggleborns in Slytherin?"

"Seven of us."

Gold was already shoving books into his bag. "Let's go."

"What, now?"

"Yes, now. They're vulnerable."

Tasker was surprised by the urgency in Gold's tone. Maybe Gold was more afraid of the Chamber of Secrets than he'd let on. But he couldn't hardly be afraid for himself. Pure blood meant something, even in an outsider. He got up and started putting his things away.


Getting to each Muggleborn turned out to be difficult. One of them was a sixth-year who thought the whole thing was a load of rot and certainly wasn't going to listen to a pair of second-years, thank-you-very much. A second thought that safety in numbers would just make them all more vulnerable. A third just looked at them like they were mad.

Then the news came that Hermione Granger - top in their year - had been petrified too. And suddenly they were all listening, desperate for anyone who even seemed to have a plan.

That evening they gathered by the fire and Gold laid out a schedule that would allow them to get each Muggleborn to their classes without having to rely on the Slytherin prefects - who, Gold seemed furious to learn, liked to threaten the Muggleborns with petrification if they didn't earn enough house points. Tasker knew those were empty threats, but they still scared him. Everything seemed scary, right now.

When the rest of them had gone to bed and the common room was all but empty, Tasker and Gold sat up by the fire, combing their library books for the Chamber of Secrets.

Hearing footsteps, Tasker looked up, and saw Didon Pettyfer approaching them. For a moment he wanted to groan, but the look on her face was not the same polite cattiness from the day before. She was in a hurry and she looked scared.

"What do you want?" asked Gold, who hadn't looked up long enough to notice how pale she was.

"It's a snake."

"What?"

"I heard Malfoy talking. He said something about a dirty great snake."

Gold closed his book and stared at her. "Talk sense, Pettyfer."

"I am!" She glanced around anxiously, leaned in, lowered her voice. "The thing that's attacking Muggleborns. It's got something to do with a snake." Thomas noticed that her hands were shaking. "I think... it's a basilisk."

"A basilisk in Hogwarts?"

"Well, think about it! Slytherin's symbol was a snake - and nobody's looked it directly in the eye, Creevey had a camera - Fitch-Fletchly saw it through a ghost and they say Granger had a mirror-"

Thomas didn't know what any of that had to do with basilisks, or even what a basilisk was. But Gold seemed to, and he was quiet for a long, long moment, staring into the fire, his face set in a frown. "Should I trust you?" he asked, at last. To Thomas's surprise it seemed like a serious question.

"I'm not lying," said Pettyfer. And she handed him a book. Thomas recognized it as the book Gold had been reading the other night, by the fire. "What's happening - I don't like it. I didn't join Slytherin house to see a lot of innocent kids die."

"You're not concerned someone'll see you helping the Muggleborns and Mudblood-lovers?" asked Gold. "Enemies of the Heir, beware. I think we qualify."

Thomas wanted to tell him to shut up - having another pureblood on their side would improve their chances - but Pettyfer didn't seem at all deterred. If anything, she stood straighter and looked fiercer, despite her shaking hands. "You're the only ones trying to actually do anything. That'll have to be good enough."

"Thought you preferred tradition? Heaven knows Slytherin's been trying to drive out the Muggleborns for decades. Your friend Carolingia wouldn't approve."

"I'm telling you I was wrong, you don't have to rub it in my face. Have I passed your little test? Used my head? Showed that I'm not scared to change things? Carolingia Rowle is one thing but a basilisk is - it's going too far. This isn't what I thought being pureblooded meant."

Gold gave her a steady look. "Sit down, Pettyfer."

Pettyfer sat. Her chair was empty, but she deliberately chose another.

Gold stared back into the fire. "A dirty great snake, azoy?" Orange light played off his eyes. "Well, I'm a dirty great snake too, and if it touches a one of you it'll learn I've got fangs."


Glad to be getting to some requests! Next up, since I've finally figured that out for a few:

1) The Continued Haunting of Draco Malfoy, in which Gold discovers that there are people on earth who find Malfoy attractive, and

2) The Unravelling Thread, in which a member of the D.A. learns the truth and Gideon Rowle learns a lie.

Please review!