Fred and George think she's blind.
But Molly knows what happens in her house, and she has not raised seven children for nothing. They don't realise it, but she's known for years. They think that she doesn't see the soft touches between the two, when passing the salt shaker or washing the dishes together. They think that she doesn't hear the muffled thumps and moans through their hurried silencing charms, and they don't know that she stays up at night, flicking through old family photographs, searching for the signs that she should have seen earlier.
Perhaps early enough to stop it.
Just what kind of a mother was she?
At times, Molly can delude herself into thinking that it isn't real, that she hasn't failed as a mother, and that her family are normal. But when she hears the thumps and the groans, she hurries upstairs, and casts a silencing charm on top of theirs, clutching at her wand as the tears slip out.
She wants to scream at them. She wants to separate them. She wants this to be all resolved with a heated argument, so they can all forgive each other and go back to being a family. So that Fred and George learn to never do it again.
But the thing that breaks her heart the most, despite her morals and beliefs, is that her duties as a mother outweigh everything. She has already failed once, and something just shatters inside of her to see her sons happy with each other. She just can't break that.
They think she's blind.
Molly wishes she were too.
end