A/N: Happy Birthday, Empress Empoleon! I hope you have a lovely day! :) This was written in response to the Birthday Fic Exchange on HPFC, and the Colours Competition, for the category white, negative. (Arthur is the one hospitalised, I hope that counts!)

Molly paced the waiting room of St Mungo's anxiously, feeling more afraid than she'd ever been in her entire life. She couldn't lose Arthur, she just couldn't. The idea was overwhelming and terrible and too many kinds of awful for her to even think about it, so she tried not to, pacing faster and faster just to stop feeling so damn helpless.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity but, she found out later, was actually only a few hours, Healer Smethwyck emerged from Arthur's room and headed towards her. Molly stopped pacing and waited impatiently for him to reach her.

He was tired, but he smiled at her. "He's going to be fine. The poison was unlike any we've ever seen before. It was a close call, and he'll need time to recover, but you can go in and see him now."

"Thank you," she said, feeling suddenly weak at the knees. "Oh, how can I ever thank you?"

He handed her a tissue, and she realised that her eyes had filled with tears. Wiping them away, she beamed at him.

"Seeing you so happy and knowing Arthur will be okay is reward enough. He's sleeping at the moment, but he should wake in a few hours."

"Thank you," she said again. Ordinarily she'd feel ridiculous for thanking him so profusely, but there was nothing ordinary about that night.

Pushing open the doors softly so as not to wake Arthur, even though she knew he was in a magically-induced sleep, she gasped at the sight of her husband lying on the hospital bed, so pale and seemingly so lifeless.

She sank gratefully into a chair near the window, clasping one of his hands in both of hers. He was covered in bandages where the snake had bitten him, and blood was seeping through in places. She closed her eyes against the sight and couldn't help but be reminded of a night so many years ago, when Albus had knocked on her door to tell her Gideon and Fabian were dead, and the sorrow that had enveloped her then.

That was then, this is now. Arthur is alive, injured, yes, but alive, and that's all that matters, she told herself firmly. It would do her no good to get lost in memories that would only make her feel worse. Instead, she turned her thoughts towards memories of Arthur, the tall, balding man in front of her, who had once been a tall, bespectacled boy with plenty of hair and too much fear to ask her on a date.

She felt a smile tug at her lips almost immediately.

"Remember that, Arthur?" She asked, knowing he couldn't hear her. Her words were a way to fill the silence, not really for Arthur's benefit, but for her own. "I had to go out with Benji Robbins for more than a month before you plucked up the courage to ask me to Hogsmeade. I couldn't stand him, really…"

"What about the time in sixth year when you pretended you could see so that you didn't have to wear your glasses? You thought they were ugly, but I thought they made you look even more handsome…"

She stopped talking and just watched him fondly for a while, focusing on the rise and fall of his chest, that small and precious sign that Arthur still existed within the wounded shell of his body. They'd been through so much together; the two of them over the years, and Molly simply couldn't imagine growing old without Arthur. They were a package deal, Molly-and-Arthur-Weasley, they had been since they were sixteen and, Molly knew, they always would be.

He was the father of her children, her perfect other half, even though he sometimes drove her mad with his relentless Muggle obsessions that she pretended to hate but mostly adored, because they were just so Arthur.

Lack of money had been one of the reasons he'd been so reluctant to approach her, it was something he felt insecure about even when they were young, and those insecurities plagued him still. He'd look so ashamed when he didn't have enough gold to buy her extravagant gifts, or the children had to make do with second hand books. Molly had reassured him time and time again that such material concerns didn't matter to her, and she was telling the truth. So what if they didn't have the biggest house, or the finest robes? They had each other, and that was more than enough for Molly.

"You'd better wake up soon, old man. There are a lot of people worried about you." To her surprise, Arthur's hand twitched in hers.

"Arthur?" She asked hopefully, "can you hear me?" He made no response and she sighed and sat back in her chair, having risen slightly in her excitement.

"Mum?" Bill was standing at the door, eyes fixed on his father.

"Bill dear, you're here," she said, walking over and giving him a hug.

"What's going on - ? Is he - ?"

"He's sleeping for now, he should wake up soon." She glanced at the clock above the bed. "Is it nearly five already? I suppose I'd better let the others know he's okay, they must be worried sick…" Her eyes moved to Arthur again, she was reluctant to leave him on his own.

"You go, mum. I'll stay here with dad; I've got the morning off work. I promise I won't take my eyes off him and I'll let you know the minute he wakes up. You need to rest, anyway."

"I know, I just…" She sighed, and leaned down to kiss Arthur on the forehead. "I'll be back soon," she promised. She turned and slowly walked away, feeling with every step like she was leaving a part of her behind, because she was.

Don't we all leave a part of ourselves with the people we care about? They become a part of us, and we become a part of them, and there's something beautiful about the fact that some things – things like love and hope and family – endure no matter what.