Summary: In the trio's fifth year, they come across a band of Slytherins who want to make their own stand against Voldemort. Their leader - the sharp and unconventional David Gold - has something Harry wants. And Hermione... well, she'd like to call it a mind-crush. An exploration of culture, language, class structure and exclusion in the wizarding world, now updated and edited!

Author's Note: This is an old work that I've returned to and polished quite a bit, now that I am (hopefully) not a teenager and a bit more of a mature writer, and because I wanted to return to some of the concepts I started to explore. Posted on a new account, mainly because I've lost access to the login info for the old one, but it IS still me, the Artist Formerly Known as Dochar - same author from last time!

The Rebel Snakes

Ch. 1: Hebraic Magic and Other Surprises

Hermione'd been off for weeks. At first Harry thought it was just accumulated humiliation over the spectacular failure of S.P.E.W., but that couldn't explain it in full. It was like third year all over again – she was always in the library, always bent over a book at mealtimes, always overtired and quick to snap. Days of questions got nothing more out of her than a sniff and a dismissive 'oh, I'm just busy with schoolwork, you know, that thing that some of us actually do?' But one day after classes they found her looking more miserable even than before, and as soon as Ron opened his mouth to observe, "Merlin, 'Moine, who hexed your cheerios?" she burst into tears.

"Alright- alright!" A hard sniff. "I'm not top of the year in Arithmancy any more!"

Harry, who'd thought it was something serious, had to try and hide a grin, but Hermione caught sight of it and glared at him with eyes full of hurt.

"Well I knew you'd think it was swotty, that's why I didn't tell you!" She sniffed, rubbing at her eyes. "Maybe it is – it's just – Vector likes him best now, and she always liked me, and he's a pure-blood – a Slytherin – and I – I feel like I've let the Muggleborns down. I didn't work hard enough and now everyone's going to think, oh, of course he did better, he's a pure-blood, but he's just too quick for me -"

By that point Harry already felt terrible for laughing. Ron's hand formed a fist. "Who is he? One of Malfoy's gang? I'll hex his teeth in."

"Don't, Ronald. You can't hex someone just for being better than me." She sniffed again. "David Gold."

Harry was surprised to hear that name. Gold was in their year, a Slytherin usually tailed by a gaggle of lower-years, who appeared to answer to him completely. He was a very fat boy with a carefully-styled head of hair and a perpetually bored expression. Harry had never actually spoken to him, but his first impression was that David Gold reminded him immediately of Dudley. But Dudley certainly never would have made a passing grade in Arithmancy – let alone bested the brightest witch of her age.

Ron seemed surprised too, but for a very different reason. "But-" He looked baffled. "You know he's not a real pureblood? I mean, not by Slytherin's standards."

"Why not?"

"He's pureblood wizard, but the Golds are from Israel. They're Hebraic wizards. A lot of pureblood English families look down on that." Ron wrinkled his nose, embarrassed on behalf of the world he'd grown up in.

Hermione huffed. She looked substantially cheered-up, Harry noticed. "Honestly, you lot are downright Medieval sometimes."

"There are Hebraic wizards?" asked Harry.

"Sure. Spells can be in any language so long as it's old enough. There's Sanskrit magic – Arabic magic-"

"-Old Saxon magic-"

"-Think I heard once about spellcasters in ancient China who-"

"So how come we don't learn any of those spells?" asked Harry, abruptly, feeling a little like he had in first year, all over again. The wizarding world would never be empty of surprises.

"Well…" Ron looked embarrassed again. "S'pose Western wizards just like to think we're the best. Bit terrible really, but there it is. Gold uses Hebrew magic all the time, and Malfoy thinks it's some kind of perversion. Hate each other, those two."

"He can't be all bad then."

"He's not!"

Both boys stared at Hermione, and she flushed, looking down. "He's – well, a bit smug-"

"If you pricked him, gravy and self-satisfaction would come out," offered Ron. Harry tried not to smirk.

"Don't be bullies," sniffed Hermione.

Ron sulked at his joke falling flat. "Why're you suddenly on his side?"

Hermione seemed not to hear him. "I can't believe I never knew about this. Wizards. Honestly." And she snapped her book shut and strode off, a new look of purpose on her face.

Harry wasn't sure whether it was that Hermione didn't want to be beaten by anyone less than brilliant, or just that she had found a new cause to champion, but he was nowhere near as bothered as Ron – all he could think about was that if Western wizards didn't know any Hebrew Magic, then it would be a tool that Voldemort might not see coming. He had to find David Gold.

The only hard part about finding David Gold was that he never seemed to be alone. Harry didn't want to approach him at the Slytherin table – where he sat every mealtime, taking up twice as much space on the bench as his gaggle of followers, talking animatedly as he ate while they hung onto every word – and the only class they had together was potions, where Harry simply wasn't willing to take any chances with Snape watching and making snide comments. Then one day serendipity struck. In the surprising form of a detention with Dolores Umbridge.

As soon as he walked into the room Harry felt eyes on him – and for once they were not the beady, mean eyes of their new defence teacher. At the only desk in the room besides Harry's, David Gold gave him the very barest of nods. It was the first time he'd ever seen a Slytherin in detention with Umbridge.

"Hem-hem."

Harry quickly took his seat. Umbridge gave them a sickly smile. "Well, now that Potter is here, let's begin, shall we?" She handed out rolls of parchment, and then, to each of them, the massive, ugly quill. "How lucky we are that I thought to have a second quill made. I'm far too busy this week for two detentions – but we couldn't let rule-breakers and bad attitudes go unpunished, could we? Now, I think you know what to write, Potter?"

Harry willed her disintegrate into a thousand tiny pieces topped by an ugly, blackfly-like bow. "Yes, Ma'am."

"And you, Gold?"

"Hard to forget when it's branded onto my skin," answered Gold, through his teeth.

Umbridge's eyes flashed. "I beg your pardon?"

"Yes, Ma'am." Under the desk, Harry could see that his fat hands were clenched with rage. Scarred onto the back of one of them were the words I must not question authority.

It was midnight before she let them out. Both boys hadn't allowed a moment of pain to cross their faces while Umbridge was in the room, but now Gold was pressing at his hand to stop the bleeding, his face tight. The Dudley-like quality of overfed self-satisfaction was harder to see now, or easier to ignore - and Harry probably would have felt for even Dudley, if he'd ever been subjected to a blood quill.

Harry saw his chance. "Essence of Murtlap helps," he offered quietly. Gold raised an eyebrow at him. Harry shrugged. "Hermione should still have a bottle left, she could give you some."

"Granger?"

"She's in your Arithmancy class."

"Oh, I know who she is. Doubt she'd want to give me much besides a swift kick." He seemed to deliberate for a moment, cradling his hand. "You reckon it's worth a try?"

"She'll help," said Harry, firmly. "Come on – I'll take you to the common room."

"Well, my evening wouldn't be complete without getting mobbed for encroaching on Gryffindor territory," observed Gold, with a trace of a wry grin. "Alright, Potter, you're the presumed expert in Umbridge-resistance. Lead on."

They were in the first floor east corridor and Harry was considering how best to broach the topic of Hebrew magic when the sound of shuffling feet suddenly reminded him that it was after hours.

"Filch!" he hissed to Gold. "Run!"

He didn't look back until he'd reached the staircase. Gold was twenty paces behind him, breathing hard and glowering. "Do I look like I run?"

"I don't want two detentions in one night, do you?"

"-Somebody in the corridors, my sweet?"

Harry ducked, pressing himself up against the side of the steps to hide from view. He wished he'd brought his cloak. Beside him, Gold didn't seem to be making much effort to hide his bulk. He raised a hand, as if to tell Harry to pipe down, and aimed his wand at the doorway.

"Avar lev," he murmured, as Filch's balding head came into view. His voice was low and gravelly and strangely musical.

Filch moved through the room, looking this way and that, but his gaze never seemed to settle on anything. It was as if Gold and Harry were simply not there. When Filch was gone, Gold pocketed his wand and gave Harry a look, like a very unimpressed teacher.

"I've never heard of that spell."

"You're not supposed to have heard of it. It's not so much a concealment as a misdirection spell - makes them fail to notice that anything's out of the ordinary. I find concealment spells always leave a bit of a shimmer in the air, and Filch knows enough to look for that."

"So... that was Hebraic magic?"

"Correct."

"What other kinds of spells are there?"

Gold raised an eyebrow at him. "All kinds. Why so curious, Potter?"

Harry bit his tongue. How much did he trust Gold? At first, all he could fix on was the Slytherin tie around the other boy's neck, but then he thought of the words scarred into his hand.

"Umbridge isn't teaching us defence," said Harry, his words coming out sharp and fast and breathless. "We need to learn any way we can. And teach each other. I don't care what the Ministry says – Voldermort's back."

Gold gave him a long, slow, appraising look. "Most Hebrew spells are well-kept secrets, Potter. Not to be entrusted to just anyone. You're a Griff, I'm a Slyth."

He swallowed, marshalling whatever few drops of leaderly eloquence he'd ever been able to pour out for the DA. "We can't afford house rivalries any more. We can't afford to keep up all the differences and groups and separations." He looked Gold in the eye. "I think - I think you want Voldemort gone as much as we do. We need to work together - all of us."

"And yet you haven't told any Slyths about your little defence club," Gold pointed out, stopping in his tracks to face Harry. There was a hard glint in his eyes. Harry realized abruptly that Gold was angry about it.

Harry faltered. It was true – they had Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws, but there had been no Slytherins yet. It was worrisome to think the Slytherins knew about it at all. And Harry couldn't pretend that worry reflected too well on what he was trying to convince Gold about inter-house cooperation, honestly. "How did you-"

"I know things. It's kind of my schtick." Gold rolled his eyes. "Don't worry, I'm not going to blab on you, Potter. We're not all in the pockets of the muppet baby Death Eaters, despite what you Gryffs seem to think." His scarred and bleeding hand tightened, making the words on it stand out. "Some of us can think for ourselves."

"We've had to be careful," said Harry. "We're just starting – If Malfoy found out-"

"Draco Malfoy is a schmendrik little bitch. What's he going to do? Set his pet dancing bears on you?"

Harry wanted to laugh, but the subject matter was a little too grim. "His father. He has connections. And now Umbridge has Hogwarts wrapped around her finger – if he goes to her and shuts us down, the whole school's defenceless."

Gold scowled, and started walking again, in the direction of Gryffindor tower.

"So – will you teach me?" asked Harry, catching up with him.

"Fine. But I want in. Me, and my snakes."

"Your snakes?" Harry thought to the gaggle of lower-year Slytherins who surrounded Gold in the Great Hall.

"My snakes. Slytherins against You-Know-Who." There was a strange mix of protectiveness and anger in Gold's voice. "They're mostly Muggleborns, or half-bloods, or they're like me. They've got as much reason to want him gone as any Gryffindor. Maybe more, since our own house thinks we're a stain on the name of Slytherin and the rest of the school thinks we're all bloody Death Eaters. They're not safe anywhere. They... deserve a place."

Harry was quiet for a moment, thinking hard. A whole group of Slytherins. The rest of them weren't going to be happy. Ron especially. But the more he thought about what it would be like, being stuck in a house that Malfoy and his cronies more or less seemed to keep in their pockets, the more he understood why Gold was angry. "…We'll need to talk to them all," Harry decided, at length. "But if they're really as much against him as you say, then they're in."

"Harry, we were really worried!" Hermione launched herself at him the moment Harry came through the portrait hole.

"We thought she'd killed you, mate - what's he doing here?"

All eyes had come to rest on Gold, who crossed his arms and scowled. "I'm a Slytherin, not a manticore. Potter's doing me a favour."

"It's fine, he's with me." Harry gestured for a quiet word with Ron and Hermione. "I've made a deal with him," he told them, in a whisper. "He's going to teach us Hebrew defence spells."

"Harry, are you mental? Even if he weren't a regulation git - he's a Slytherin!"

Hermione seemed to have seized on Harry's idea immediately. She cast a slightly awkward smile at their new guest, then huffed at Ron. "We can't just decide all of Slytherin house is the enemy, Ronald! I think it's a great idea, Harry-"

"How do we know he's on our side?" whispered Ron.

Across the room, Gold turned to fix Ron with an unmoving gaze. Evidently Ron had whispered a bit too loud. "I'm Jewish, Weasley. I don't know if English purebloods bother with Muggle history, but the whole 'dictator trying to purify the pedigree of an entire nation' business ought to raise a few alarm bells. Umbridge's already marked my skin. You think I'm on the Death Eaters' side?"

The room fell uncomfortably quiet.

Harry cleared his throat. "Hermione, have you got any more Essence of Murtlap?"

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