Title: Caged

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or an of the characters so sue me not for I have little except for this mind in my head.

Pairings: Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott

Arthur Note: Part of series of ficlets dealing with these two. Post-war. Set after Draining Rain and before the ones that follow. Also, for those that follow these, I actually have several pieces about Talbot. These will not be put on due to the fact that they center on a non-canon character, but if anyone wishes to see them, they only need ask.

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"You can check out now, Mr. Nott." The doctor looked reluctant to make such an admission. Most people weren't precisely pleased with how the prisoners of war were being forgiven. Given a new lease on life. As if their slates could be wiped clean.

There would be no more pretending. No more extending his illness. No more St. Mungo's. He could leave.. and go where?

"Unfortunately, as I assume you know, Mr. Zabini is still a patient of this hospital and will have to be moved back to his former quarters."

Nott frowned. "..and when can he be released?"

"When he has proven that he is stable enough to live on his own. I cannot give you any more information than that."

Some patients never check out from St. Mungo's. They didn't live there...rather they died there. Melding into the medicine-scented, white hallways, ghosts with corporeal form.

He didn't like the idea of Blaise stuck there by himself. They wouldn't let him stay though. The staff especially didn't like the idea of Theodore Nott wandering about on his own free will (though he was technically being aided by a cane). Wouldn't let him take him.

Each day he came during visiting hours. Each time he had to argue with the nurse who was on duty that he was allowed to visit despite the patient's condition even if he wasn't family. The visits were supervised.

We fear that interaction with you may lead to negative side effects for the patient. If it is detrimental to his health then such visitations would cease to be possible. You do understand how tender these matters are.

Blaise didn't appear healthy. Seemed to be hollowing out in the suddenly empty hours. The lonely bed. Empty, idle hands, that occasionally were bound (standard procedure, you see). He knew that he had to convince them that he could be fine. That he wouldn't just sit around and wait for the inevitable. There was...would be Nott.

"Can I leave?" "May I go?" "I don't want to be here anymore." "Pleasepleaseplease.." And he took their tests, dull and endless, did whatever they asked, behaved, breathed, quiet. Of course, he was refused for his own good. Clearly unstable, unable, gone, gone, gone.

Tried to appease himself by how Nott was safe now. Could tend for himself. Didn't need him.

Was he eating enough?

Cheek resting against the metal of bed frame he lived for the few hours. Knew that the other would be disappointed if he was thinner with dark rings around his eyes.

He couldn't sleep at night without him there beside him. Couldn't waste the minutes when he was there with spastic rest.

Fin