Molly felt fury bubbling in her heart, especially after hearing Cundrie's request and snippets of Flint's sobs. Why the hell hasn't this Venus woman visited her nephew yet?! Her own orphaned nephew! Flint Bungalow, right? That's what Cundrie had said. Molly wasted no time as she reached the Burrow to rush up to her room, she'll write a letter to Venus Flint. A rather nasty one, if she'd have her way. The boy is 14! He's an orphan! He's currently fighting an addiction! And Venus Flint hasn't once visited him?! Oh, she will. If Molly had to drag her, she will!

Dear Venus Flint,

Hello. You might know me as the mother of your son's friend, Cundrie Weasley's mother. I visited my daughter this morning, and I heard a rather unsettling message from Cundrie herself. She said you haven't visited your son, not even once for 11 days since his arrest. He was crying horribly for you, I found it hard to stay happy for my daughter, hearing your nephew's anguished cries.

What I want to say is, you should go visit him. He's your only nephew, he doesn't have anyone else as family as he's orphaned. He's currently fighting to get over an addiction with the threat of imprisonment on his head and complete humiliation from the Daily Prophet, and he could use his aunt's support. He should have his aunt's support. What kind of an aunt are you, to leave your only nephew (that's also orphaned and fighting an addiction) in prison with no visitation at all? Both my family and Wood's family frequently visit our respective child, you should do the same. Even if you're not his biological mother, you're still his family and he needs your presence.

Molly Weasley

Molly sealed her letter, heading for the kitchen to reach the family owl, Errol. Molly stroked his feathers, tying the letter to his leg.

"Deliver this to Flint Bungalow," Molly ordered, and Errol flew off with the letter. Molly stayed even long after Errol disappeared from view, but really, where else would she go? She still can't imagine that woman would not visit her only nephew who needed her attention. She can't imagine ever not responding to her children's calls and cries of help, from Bill to Ginny. Even Cundrie, no matter how bad she has hurt her heart ever since that day. No matter how many hours of sleep has she lost, crying over her. No matter how hearing her voice of desperation for seconal tablets hurt her.

"Mum?" Molly turned her back, seeing Fred in the kitchen with her. "What are you doing here?"

"Nothing, just-" Molly wiped the tears she didn't realise she'd shed again. "Why don't you go play with George?"

"I am, but I want some water-" Fred answered, grabbing two glasses, handing one to his mother. "Is it Cundrie again?"

"Don't say it like that, you make me sound so pathetic-" Molly forced a laugh, taking the water from her son and drinking it.

"What are you crying about, then?" Fred asked, drinking more of his water. "You have other children too, not just Cundrie."

"None of you are having troubles legally and socially, she is," Molly fought. "I love all of you equally, but she needs us the most now."

"How do you know she needs you?" Fred fought. Molly furrowed her brows. "She never outright says it."

"She's my daughter, Fred. You are my children," Molly said. "She needs our support to be sober. I don't know how long has she done this, I forgot to ask. But she needs support so she can be sober again, and you should provide that. Today was your first time visiting her, you don't miss her?"

"She deserves it, no one told her to be a drug addict or to be a leftist artist-" Fred huffed. Molly said nothing. "I thought she's just one big prat, turns out the prattiness was just an act and she's even worse."

"She's your sister and she hurt nobody but herself-"

"And that's her fault!" Fred interrupted. Molly closed her lips together. "And who says she only hurts herself? She hurts you and she hurts me, her art and seeing you hurt. Seeing the Daily Prophet, seeing the pictures of what she's done, it surely insults me. Seeing you always crying about her hurts me too. You deserve better children, children who don't hurt you when they're barely even fourteen!"

"What are you insulted by- the blasphemous art?" Molly asked. She knew a handful of her children had been, from the devout Catholic Bill to the agnostic Charlie. "As far as I remember, you didn't particularly care about religion. So why are you offended?"

"Of course I'm offended! Jesus wasn't beheaded, he was crucified! And he's not black!" Fred fought. "Even though I'm not as good as Bill in being a Catholic, I'm still Catholic. I get that she's an atheist but that's not just being an apostate, that's just outright disrespecting religion. Charlie and George would never do that, and they're both agnostics."

"Any other way she hurt you?" Molly asked. "About her hurting me? Maybe you think I deserve children who don't hurt me, but children will hurt their parents one way or another. It's inevitable. And who says you doing this don't hurt me?" Molly shook her head. "You blaming her, you only visiting her once after eleven days. I think you hate her!"

"Maybe I do-" Fred huffed. "She is guilty, this is all her fault. Why don't you ask Bill, huh? He thinks she shouldn't face the juvenile version of the sentencing."

Molly closed her eyes, and Fred takes it as a clue to leave, before she ran up to her room. Once she has locked the room, she cast a 'muffliato' around it, before she can start throwing a shitfit. The sheet of the bed was pulled off, pillows were thrown, she repeatedly punched the wall.

Can she do this?