Disclaimer / I don't own anything

WARNING!

This chapter talks about physical abuse and rape. There isn't much detail about it, but it is spoken about and the emotions this caused are displayed. If you do not wish to read, you don't have to. I will recap anything I mentioned in this chapter, next chapter, so you don't miss out. You've been warned.

Recap of the last chapter:

I look into his twinkling blue eyes and see nothing but kindness and patience in them. Deep down I know I can tell them. I know they won't judge me. They won't think less or more of me. They won't hurtfully use this against me. But every fibre of my being tells me not to. Screams at me to leave the room and never come back. The very thought of telling them makes me shudder. It brings back the memories that I never want to remember. But I can't push it back. If I don't face it, it will consume me. So, with a great, shaking breath, I tell the horror.

Chapter 9

"Ever since I was seven, Harry and I were abused by the Dursleys. Physically. Aunt Petunia never touched us, but Uncle Vernon and Dudley always did. They would hit us and sometimes beat us. They never hit us on the face, because then people would be able to see it. They hit us where our clothes could hide it. What made it worse though was it wasn't just them. The kids at our muggle school would also hurt us because Dudley convinced them to. Our bruises never healed, and our cuts would be reopened. They never went as far as to break bones, because then we would have to be taken to the hospital, and they would ask questions. But that almost made it worse. We weren't hit hard, so they made up for it by hitting over and over again. And we had to take it. If we cried out they went further. If we winced while walking it happened again. We had to stay quiet and unmoving while we took it, and we couldn't show pain afterwards. Whenever we did…" I trail off, memories overtaking me.

I remember all the times Uncle Vernon and Dudley and all his friends had hurt us. All the times. If I spilled something on the kitchen bench, five minutes of beating. If I burnt the food, five minutes of beating. If I spoke before I was spoken to, five minutes of beating. If I didn't do all the jobs I'd been assigned, ten minutes of beating. If I came out of the cupboard without permission, twenty minutes of beating. If I did something out of the ordinary, half an hour of beating. For four years, that was my daily life. Follow the rules, don't do anything your not allowed to. After the beating, I would have to correct my mistake. When I was allowed to go back to the cupboard, I let the tears fall. I couldn't make any sound, but my shoulders would shake, and my vision would blur. Sometimes Harry would find me and clean me up. Others times we leant on each other's shoulders, letting out our misery together. Afterwards, we would wipe the tears away, and try to forget what had happened. On and on, the cycle repeated itself. So much, that it became unnatural if we were treated well. After Diagon Alley, the Dursleys didn't disturb us. It was unsettling.

Pushing the emotion back and blinking tears away I continue.

"But that wasn't the worst bit. Not for me. For me, Uncle Vernon would wait until Harry was busy. Doing an endless amount of jobs or homework or something like that. Then he would call me out. I would go to him, shaking, fearing another round of beating. But he took it to a whole new level."

My voice shakes a little as I make the decision to tell them what happened next. But fear creeps up on me again. What would they think? What would they do? I could barely stomach the thought of it and the idea of telling someone else scared me to my core. No one else knew. I try to take a few more deep breaths, to calm myself, but it doesn't work. I desperately try and fail to blink the tears away, not bothering to wipe them away. Suddenly I hear a clatter. One of the trinkets on Dumbledore's desk had started to shake, then it fell off. Looking around the room, I notice various objects also shaking and moving. I try to control myself as Dumbledore said, but I can't help it. More objects fall to the ground. Overwhelmed, my knees give out beneath me, and I sink to the floor. Instantly, McGonagall comes up to me, worry written all over her face.

"Shh," she whispers. "You're alright. You're alright. We're here. You're safe."

Dumbledore comes up to us. Together, their strong arms wrap around my frame, and with a great effort they stand me up, supporting most of my weight. McGonagall continues whispering comforting words, slowly calming me down a little. The professors guide me to a chair, and I take a seat. They follow suit, drawing up two chairs in front of me. They don't say anything, they just wait for me to regain some control. Somehow, the feeling of being in this room, with only the two professors, who I had learned to trust and respect, calmed me. Slowly, very slowly, the memories fade a little. I focus on the professor's faces, to keep me grounded in the present. It works, and I calm down enough to carry on.

"He would lead me into another room," I start. "He'd lock the door so no one could interrupt. I was so scared. The first time it happened, I didn't know what he was going to do to me. I was so young, and the thought… it never even crossed my mind. He –"

I close my eyes, not sure how to say it. I don't focus on anything. I school my face into a neutral form, keeping all emotion from it. I say it like a fact.

"He abused me. He abused my body."

Minerva's POV

I gasp. The horror of the girl's words sinks in. I start to shake with anger. The idea of that man, any man, laying his hands on this poor, innocent child's body is too hard to stomach. Rage stabs at me, and the trinkets in the room start to shake more violently, doubled with my anger. Since these lessons started, my connection with Isobel had started to grow. I'd learned to care about her in an almost motherly way. The stories she told Albus and I pulled at my heartstrings. The girl is only eleven, yet she's been through so much pain in her life already. It almost breaks me to know that the real struggle is yet to come. I want so badly to ease her pain and take all her troubles and worries away. But, of course, that's not possible. The best I can do is be by her sided and guide and support her as much as possible. Knowing this, I force myself to calm down. I force my emotions back under control. The purpose of these meetings is to teach Isobel restraint. How could I do that if I couldn't even set a proper example? So I focus on the happy memories. I push the anger and sadness away. Years of practice makes it much easier, yet still, the thought of what happened to Isobel nags at me. I close my eyes, bringing good memories to the surface. The day I first met Albus. Classes with him. Learning how to become an Animagus. Our first kiss. Our wedding.

Slowly, my magic reigns in, until finally, it locks away.

Meanwhile, Isobel's POV

There. It'd been said. McGonagall gasps audibly. I'm almost afraid to open my eyes. When I do, McGonagall is shaking, and Dumbledore's eyes are fuelled with rage. There is no hint of a twinkle in them. I can see them fighting to stay in control. In our previous lessons, Dumbledore had told me that McGonagall and he struggled with the same problem when they were younger. They had to learn control, just like I have to. I didn't think I would see them lose control. They're both so aware of their emotions and can keep a hold on them with ease. But right now, I see them struggling.

I don't say anything. I don't know what to say. So I wait. I wait for them as they did me. Watching in amazement at their somehow still maintained control, I study them as they focus, trying to take note on how to control myself. They both seem to be breathing evenly, and their eyes a closed. Probably focusing on something. I gradually, see the restraint come back. I realise they must have been affecting the trinkets in the room as well because they stop moving as much, although they are still buzzing a little from me. They open their eyes, and I notice the twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes hasn't reappeared, but the rage has dispersed. McGonagall stops shaking, and slowly, they both relax a little.

"Apologies for that," Dumbledore says, his voice a little hard.

He clears his throat before continuing in a much kinder voice.

"I'm so sorry you had to endure that while growing up Isobel. By the time you have to leave Hogwarts, this will be sorted out."

There is a little bit of a pause before McGonagall speaks up.

"I think maybe we should cut this lesson a little short – "

"No," I interrupt.

McGonagall looks at me.

"I mean. Sorry," I say. "I don't want to stop. I want to learn something."

McGonagall looks flabbergasted, and Dumbledore slightly impressed. I continue.

"I've finally told you everything. I want you to teach me how to control this. Please."

I look at them. They look at each other. They have one of their silent conversations I'd noticed before. Finally, Dumbledore looks back at me.

"As long as you're ready?" he asks.

I nod.

"Alright. Let's begin."

I know, I'm sorry. This chapter is even shorter than then the last one. Again, thank you so much for reading and I hope you are enjoying this story. Please leave a review.