N/A: Hi, everyone! Thank you for the sweets reviews! I'm so happy you guys are enjoying the story. I'll be posting every Monday from now on. I'm also writing another story, for the game The Arcana, which I'm loving. But let's head to today's chapter, shall we? Any comments, critiques or concerns, feel free to contact me.

Chapter Ten - A Cake and a New Quest

What is this? What is this that made us wonder who we are?

Couldn't face what we had done and so we covered up the scars

And now we hope, but our hope is buried underneath at night

Can't escape and the silence hold us captive with this lie*

I wake up with Edgar sleeping on my pillow, right next to my face. His fur is warm and smells like comfort, which makes it even harder to get up and face another Monday. He seems to enjoy Hogwarts even more than our house back in Brighton, but it's understandable. Though the house is comfortable and secure, Hogwarts is a whole new world, full of possibilities and places to explore.

Though it doesn't feel good to start my day with detention, my feelings of distress vanish as soon as I enter the choir room. Professor Flitwick is particularly excited about our performance for Halloween, especially after I showed him a version of Bark to the Moon, by Ozzy Osbourne, that could work for our presentation.

"It is a very pertinent song, Miss Lockhart," he said to me. "Excellent for a Halloween party."

Singing a Muggle song with my choir mates is interesting, because the song is new for the majority of them. Not that Ozzy Osbourne himself looks very Mugglish. In fact, he looks like someone who would be fit for The Weird Sisters.

"Howling in shadows… Having a lunar spell… He finds his heaven… Spewing from the mouth of hell…" my colleagues follow me as we try to arrange a composition of spooky voices and melodic ones that could be suited for a funeral march.

An hour later, I leave the choir room feeling oddly energized. Not enough, though, to face Rakepick and her many unorthodox lessons. Not that I am a traditional girl of any sort; it's just that Rakepick is just… well, she's a creep.

Rowan is waiting for me by the classroom door, looking severely annoyed. Her arms are crossed in front of her chest and her backpack is left on the floor, next to her feet.

"Are you okay?" I ask her.

She releases a long sigh. "Rakepick is going to teach us about pixies today."

"And that is an issue because…"

"Because she brought a bunch of dead ones to show us," she says, solemn.

I frown, feeling my body get rigid. We find our place in the back of the classroom, right behind Tulip and James. In front of the chalkboard, lying on Rakepick's table, are no less than ten different pixies, all immobile. I bite my lip, because I know that they're not still because of a curse. It's not just because Rowan told me that they're dead; the stench of death and be smelled in the air.

Not even Liz seems to be comfortable sitting in the same room of a bunch of dead pixies. She's biting the back of her pencil with an overall vexed expression that I have never seen before. Behind it all, she even looks a little sad.

"'Morning, class," Rakepick says, descending the little curved staircase located in the right corner of the room, right next to the chalkboard. Her hair seems to be even more auburn and there's a strange spark in her eyes. "As you probably noticed, today's lesson is about pixies."

She walks to her table and picks one of the little dead bodies, which is surprisingly flexible. She holds it by its two tiny hands and shows it to us, making the little pixie's head hang loose in front of its chest. It's bizarre, to say the very least.

"This is a spell called Exorabilis," she tells us. "Who can tell me what it does?"

Ismelda raises her hand. "It's meant to allow a cadaver to maintain its flexibility and ignore the usual rigor mortis."

"Are her parents morticians or something like that?" Rowan whispers to me and I shrug.

"Correct, Miss Murk," Rakepick says. "Five points to Slytherin. However, today's lesson isn't about this extremely useful spell."

"Useful if you're into necrophilia," Rowan adds.

"Which one of you is savant enough to correctly identify these ten species of pixies?" Rakepick asks.

In the desk next to ours, I can see Liz moving uncomfortably. I'm sure that she knows the answer, but her dismayed expression and the fact that she's staring at the beautiful pixie illustration on her book makes it obvious that she doesn't want to engage in the lesson.

"No one?" Rakepick provokes. "Well, that is disappointing."

She then proceeds to explain about the ten different species she brought for us; about the differences between Cornish and Canadian pixies, even though they're both electric blue, and what different poisons can be used to kill them.

"They are feisty little beasts," she says. "In the 17th century, a swarm of pixies abducted the witch Dymphna Furmage. Such event led to a lifelong of trauma, which drove her make a request to the Ministry to eradicate the pixies. Her request was denied and she suffered a heart attack due to stress in 1692."

"Well, she saw it coming," I hear Liz say, her voice loud and clear.

"What was that, Miss Tuttle?" Rakepick says, bearing a mischievous smirk.

"I said that Dymphna Furmage had her poetic justice doom," Liz says. "What you are telling us is just a fraction of the whole story. She taunted the swarm because she hated magical beasts. She was deceiving and said she was abducted out of nowhere, but a witness said that she did, in fact, provoked the pixies. She died because she deserved to, for trying to put an end to magnificent creatures."

"Splendid speech, Miss-"

"In addition to that, pixies are not simply mischievous beasts. They are important parts of the food chain and a lot of them are herbivorous, feeding on nectar and helping pollinize many magical plants," Liz continues, ignoring Rakepick. "If what you're doing here is try to show an extremely biased point of view, then well done, Professor. This is how you raise other Dymphna Furmages."

I look at Rakepick, whose lips are pressed together, creating a thin line across her face. It is clear that she knew she was being provocative, but I reckon she didn't knew she'd awaken a side of Liz what no one knew existed. Her eyes move to the dead pixies atop her table and with a flick of her wand, they disappear. She returns her eyes to the classroom, disgusted.

"Ten points from Slytherin," she kisses. "Class dismissed."

Liz is the first one to leave the room. There's a burning fire in her eyes and her hands are closed into fists. Barnaby follows her and they disappear in the next corridor. Outside the classroom, Rowan flashes me a devilish smile.

"That was fun," she says.

No need to say that we talk and laugh about it all the way to Charms, and Liz's speech is the main topic during lunch. After that, I can see that the news arrived in Professor Snape's classroom, for he awards twenty points for Liz because of a series of correct answers. I smile at her. Though she seems sweet and overall harmless, now I can see that she's fierce. Rakepick's vexed expression accompanied me to another Quidditch practice, which makes it even more exciting to fly freely across the skies.

"You are doing great, Blair," I say after the practice, when I'm fixing my tie. "It almost makes me not want to play in November. You'd surely bring victory to Ravenclaw."

She blushes a little. "Well, I don't know about that… I don't want anything to happen to you, but I confess that I love to play."

"Well, who knows?" I say. "I'm always engaging in dangerous tasks… Perhaps this will be your year."

She smiles. "Thanks, Captain."

I'm left alone after she leaves. I brush my hair, still considering to cut it, and proceed to apply some lip gloss. Before I'm even able to put the applicator back in the bottle, I see Mr. Filch's figure arising from behind me.

"You filthy little thief," he hisses as I turn around, resting my back against the mirror.

"Mr. Filch," I say, trying not to lose my pose.

"I know you've been stealing things from my office," he continues. "Confiscated magical artefacts… maps… runes… You probably think that you're above this castle's rules."

"No, I-"

"You kids have no respect for me whatsoever," he spits. "You see me as the caretaker you can walk over, but I'm going to show you that you cannot play games with me. I'll have you hanging by your ankles before you're able to finish your kitchen detention."

That being said, he turns on his heels and leaves, stepping loudly. I'm left with a racing heart and thousands of thoughts crowing my mind. He never said what I stole from him, but he did mention the word map. My mind transports me all the way back to Madam Rosmerta's chambers, where Rakepick inquired her about my brother and some map.

I swallow hard, wondering how everything could be connected. There's so much yet to uncover and so many loose strings in this huge and messed up ball of year that is the Cursed Vaults. If there's a map that Rakepick wants desperately enough to threaten people, it seems like a map I should be looking for too.

I return to the castle, chewing the inside of my cheeks. There are so many thoughts inside my head that is hard to process everything. My hands find their way into my pockets as I walk over the stone trails.

When I reach the Courtyard, Badeea Ali is there. The canvas on the easel is different; it's square and smaller. As I approach, I see that she's painting a horse.

"Good afternoon, Athena," she says in her melodic voice. "How are you today?"

I shrug. "Just a little tired. I had Quidditch practice today."

"Oh, I've never shown aptitude for physical activities," she says. "Arts, however, have always been a part of me."

I smile, approaching her. The painting she's so focused on is flawless. I can almost count the hairs in the horse's tail and the tiny flowers she painted across the grass are delicate and fragile.

"Any portrait can become a magical one?" I ask her.

"Oh, yes," she tells me. "Landscape… animals… but people look for me mostly for my abilities in painting people."

"I thought that these paintings across the castle… were just the essence of those people."

"Yes and no," she says. "When someone dies, they're dead. Unless they become ghosts, of course. But a painting… well, it has no soul. That's why the artist's technique is so important. It's necessary to capture more than just appearance. Enchantments let the portrait imitate its subject and use its favourite phrases."

"The same thing applies for the previous Headmasters' portraits?" I ask her.

"Oh, they're painted before they die, you see. The Headmaster then spends a lot of time teaching the portrait how to behave like them," she explains. "Curious, isn't it?"

I stare at the painting and nod.

She dips the brush in a mixture of browns and greys and adds thin strokes to the horse's mane. Her movements are precise, yet delicate. Her hands move like water; flowy and graceful. When she's satisfied with her work, she takes a step back to analyse it.

"It's perfect," I say.

"Not yet," she tells me. "I'm a perfectionist, Athena. It takes a while for me to become satisfied with a painting."

I nod. "Thank you for teaching me about magical portraits."

She smiles. "Can I give you an advice?"

"Sure."

"Whenever you're feeling stuck, try an inventive approach. Do things you would normally never think of doing. I've done some of my best works like that."

I blink a few times, trying to process her words. A smile arises on my lips when a strange idea pops inside my head. I bite my lip, feeling wages of anxiousness run thought my body. Not the kind of anxiety that make you want to throw up; it's the kind that makes you want to see what's about to happen.

"Thank you, Badeea. Thank you so, so much."

Detention is not something I'd usually be excited for. In fact, I struggle with it every day, having to leave my warm bed earlier than everyone else. This time, I see it with different eyes. There's a wide range of possibilities that I hadn't seen before. Of course, everything that I have considered may end up badly and it will all just be an immense waste of my time, but I feel like it's worth the shot.

I rush to the kitchens, hearing only the sound of my shoes tapping against the floor. The dawn is fresh and beautiful, almost like a prelude to my plans. I tickle the pear excitedly and open a huge smile when I see Pitts.

"Now what's wrong with you today?" he asks me, vexed.

"Good morning, Pitts," I say. "I was wondering if I could bake a cake today. I want to give it as a present."

"Seems like a lousy present."

"You say that because you haven't tried my chocolate cake with butterscotch frosting," I say, smiling.

He squints at me, making his round, lumpy head look even lumpier. He's so incredibly different from Holly or even Cady, but I can understand why he needs to be so strict. Holly doesn't need to coordinate dozens of elves; she now has the freedom to come and go, but Pitts doesn't. He needs to be harsh not only to do his job, but also to survive.

"You want to bake a cake to someone?" he asks. "Well, then. Make it five more if you're going to waste my time with such nonsense. One for each table. I think it makes it fair enough."

I swallow hard. "Thank you."

I have to rush desperately to fill a huge bowl with enough batter to make six cakes. My hands move faster than never and I can't tell if Cady is annoyed at me for making her work harder or if she's amused for doing something different for a change. She helps me break eighteen eggs and sifts the flour for me. I also run over Jay in order to get the jar full of cocoa powder while rushing to whisk the frosting. I usually enjoy baking with patience, because a lot of things can go wrong when you bake in a hurry. However, I have just one hour to do everything and considering that the cakes need to bake for forty minutes, it leaves me with less than ten minutes to frost them all.

When the batter it ready – dark and smooth – I line six cake pans and pour the batter carefully. Cady helps me put them in the oven and, while we wait, I proceed to make some caramel while Cady washes some cherries.

Jay watches me with an amused smile. He's helping another elf make flawless towers of toast with fig jam on the side, but it doesn't prevent him from eyeing me as if I'm in a baking war.

Once the cakes are ready, I take them out of the oven. A sigh escapes my lips as I realize that I'll have to cut them and frost them while they're still hot. I bite my lip, thinking that the frosting will most likely melt. I look around, nervously, and spot Pitts monitoring another elf's job. I reach for my wand, visualizing a much softer, delicate spell.

"Auravento," I whisper, and a gentle breeze escapes the tip of my wand, surrounding the cakes in a subtle aura.

From my peripheral view, I can see that Cady is looking at me with wide eyes. She leaves my side, but I can hear that she's talking to Pitts.

"I think that I burned my hand in the cake pan," she tells him.

"What do you mean you think?" he shouts. "Either you burned it or you didn't. Don't make me lose my patience today."

I thank her mentally while I allow my spell to cool the cakes for a few more seconds. When I place my wand safely back in my pocket, the cakes are ready to be sliced. I cut then in half and add the filling and some sliced cherries. On top, I add the frosting and make a spider web design out of warm caramel. To finish, Cady helps me place some more cherries for decoration.

I let out a long, relieved sigh and look at her with a smile. "Thank you, Cady. I couldn't have done it without you."

She bows and proceeds to take the five extra cakes to the tables. Pitts walks to me with a serene expression.

"Impressive, human," he says. "Now leave."

I smile, still panting and somewhat sweaty, and get my cake. It smells deliciously sweet and though it was made in a hurry, I'm sure it tastes delicious. It's Holly's recipe, after all.

I proceed to leave the kitchen, but Jay stops me.

"Here," he says, handing me a napkin. "You have chocolate on your forehead."

I giggle, wiping a bizarre amount from my face. "Thanks."

"I hope that whoever gets this cake, is deserving of your hard work," he says.

I sigh. "Yeah, me too."

The sun is burning bright outside of the windows. It kisses my skin with his golden lips as I take my lonely walk to the ground floor. My heart races when I raise my hand and knock on the door near the castle's entrance. I curl my toes inside my shoes as I wait, feeling waves of nervousness rush through my body.

The door opens, revealing a much cranky Filch.

"What do you want?" he hisses. "Steal more artefacts?"

I take a deep breath before speaking. "No, sir. I simply wanted to bring you this cake. I thought you'd like it."

He frowns. "Do you think I'm a fool? Do you think I don't know that there's a Fanged Frisbee hidden inside this excuse of a cake?"

This time, I frown. "Why would I ever put a Fanged Frisbee inside a cake? No, this is a chocolate cake with butterscotch frosting and fresh cherries."

"You are really a deceiving twit," he spits. "I would never fall for such stupid trap."

I sigh, annoyed. "Mr. Filch, this cake is not a trap. There's nothing hidden inside it but dozens of delicious cherries. I know you have no reason whatsoever to believe me, but this cake is safe and pretty much scrumptious. If you find a hint of anything suspicious inside of it, you have my permission to hang me on the ceiling from my ankles."

He frowns harder, looking at me with his small greyish eyes. "Very well, then. Give it to me."

I pull the cake away from him. "Won't you be polite and invite a lady for cake?"

His lips twitch. I watch his eyes move from the cake to my face and to the cake one more time. He seems to be battling an internal fight, and I wait patiently by the door.

"Fine. Come on in."

He enters, leaving the door open, and I smile, victorious.

The first thing I notice is that his office has no windows. It smells like dust and humidity and the only illumination comes from a candlestick over a small wooden desk. There are only two chairs – one presumably being Filch's spot – and the other has a box of papers over it. There are archives covering the walls, all made of a dark wood and labelled with a hard to read handwriting. From the ceiling, many metal chains and manacles are pending, and spider webs make a spooky fractal design among them.

I swallow hard, bringing the cake to the table. Filch proceeds to remove the box from the extra chair and places it on the floor, on one corner. He opens enters a door between two tall archives and returns shortly after with two small plates, a knife and two forks. He places it on the table and hands me the knife.

"Just in case there's a Fanged Frisbee inside," he says.

I proceed to slice the cake. "I don't know why someone would even do that, but okay."

"Then you don't have any idea of what this castle's kids are capable of," he mumbles, looking a little resented.

I place the first slice on the place and hand it to him. The interior looks perfect; the cake is dark, soft and fragrant, and the cherries are beautifully visible in the middle of the light frosting. They are like rubies in the middle of the sand and the perfection of it makes me smile.

I cut another slice and put it on my plate. Filch rests on his chair and brings the slice to his nose. He sniffs it a few times before grabbing the fork and giving a try. I watch as his eyes change from annoyed and suspicious to lively and surprised. He looks at me with a totally different expression, and proceeds to eat the rest of the slice.

"I'll assume that you liked it," I say, simply.

He looks back to the cake, looking rather pensive, and then gets up and returns to the adjacent room. I continue to eat my slice in silence, until he returns a while later with a tea pot and two cups.

"Black tea?" he offers.

I nod. "Thank you."

He pours some tea in both cups and sits again. I watch him grab the knife and cut another slice – larger – and eat with blissfulness. A strange feeling fills me as I watch the man that I have learned to fear and that everyone thinks it's terrible and sadistic eat the cake that I baked, laying down all armour he previously had for the fear of someone wanting to prank him. My thoughts go to Tulip and Tonks, for I know that they are part of the vicious cycle of making Filch's life more miserable. Though he's not entirely free from guilt, I don't think he deserves to be treated like trash. Especially when Dumbledore makes him clean the castle without magic.

"I'm glad you enjoyed the cake," I say to him.

He looks at me. "Why did you bother baking it?"

I look at me hands. "Yesterday… you called me a thief. I don't know what you think I stole from you, but I wanted to say that I'd never do that."

"You steal that map and tries to buy me with cake," he sibilates. "Have you no shame?"

"No, because I didn't do anything," I say, firmly. "I do know, however, that Rakepick has been looking for a map. Did it ever occurred you that she might have stolen it?"

"Of course not," he says. "She came looking for it, that spiteful twit. She demanded for me to give it to her and I told her she was free to look through every single archive and that she would find no map. I don't know the value of that piece of trash, but if she wanted it so much then, well… I just couldn't hand it to her. Who the hell did she think she was, storming into my office and telling me what to do? I hid that excuse for a parchment away from her nosy hands until she was certain it wasn't here. But then… then someone found their way in and stole it!"

I clench my jaw at his story. "And you promptly presumed it was me."

"Can you blame me?" he asks. "Your brother was just as reckless. He had no respect for the rules and was always after forbidden artefacts. I lost count of how many times I made him clean this school's trophies."

"I'm not like that," I say, simply.

"What are you like, then?" he hisses.

I get up. "I'm the kind of girl that bakes a cake for a misunderstood man, in order to try to make things right. Thank you for the tea, Mr. Filch."

I don't stay to see his expression or to hear whatever he has to say. I leave, allowing the tension on my shoulders to slowly become the feeling of accomplishment. My heart feels lighter and I feel thankful for the sunshine as I walk by a window. In the distance, I can see Badeea Ali admiring the grounds' landscape. I smile at her silhouette, thankful for her advice.

I confess that after spending the early morning baking many cakes and then having breakfast with Mr. Filch didn't actually set the mood for a History of Magic lesson. I meet with Rowan by the classroom door, where many other students are gathered, probably delaying their entrance and the beginning of another unenthusiastic lecture.

"How was it, to share a meal with Filch?" she asks me as soon as she sees me.

"Enlightening," I tell her. "He does think I stole a map from him. Probably the same map Rakepick was looking for last year. The question that is still left unanswered, is who the hell stole the damn map."

Rowan looks up, biting her bottom lip. It's the main indicative that she's thinking. It's almost like she's trying to see her own brain in order to find the answers she's looking for. Her brown eyes return to me as she shakes her head gently.

"I wonder how much more information you could still get from Filch," she says. "You baked him one cake and he immediately spilled the tea."

"He did call Rakepick a spiteful twit."

She throws her head back, bursting into laughter. "Oh, Merlin. I'll definitely start to use this now. Spiteful twit… Fits so many people. Rakepick… Merula… Ismelda… My cousin Salena…"

I giggle, but seriousness returns to me right after. "Rowan… do you think we are too… inconsiderate… when it comes to Filch?"

She frowns. "No. Honestly, such thing never crossed my mind."

"I mean… does he really deserve to be treated like he is?"

"Well, the guy is a total creep," she says. "Have you heard half the things he threatens to do with Tonks?"

I shrug. "It's not like she's free of guilt."

"I fail to see you point."

"Think about it, Row. We have no idea how long he's been working in this castle. We don't know how much abuse he's had to endure, both from students and professors."

She rests her hand on my shoulder. "You are remarkable, Athie. You see the good in everyone. Even in a psycho sadist like Filch."

"You make it sound like a bad thing," I say.

"It's not. It's actually a very commendable quality."

I sigh. "You're not entirely correct. I see no good in Rakepick."

She snickers. "That's because she is Satan."

Her warm palms find their way to my cheeks, where they rest delicately. She looks me in the eyes with the sweet Rowan-smile that I've learned to love. They say many things in their woody silence and, at the same time, feel like my personal harbour.

"Take these things off your head for now," she says. "Filch… the map… everything. Focus on Professor Binns lesson and we'll talk about it later."

I nod and smile softly. Her lips curl in a sweet smile as she reaches for her backpack and then grabs my hand, guiding me to the classroom.

* The Silence, by Arrows to Athens.