Team: Wigtown Wanderers
Position: Beater 2
Prompt: Write about a character suffering from amnesia (or relevant memory impairment).
Additional Prompts: 4. (word) objection, 14. (dialogue) "Sure, let's all get matching tattoos and we can dance the polka.", 15. (dialogue) "My baby! They stole my baby!" / "...you don't have a baby."
Words: 1596

Thank you to Bailey for betaing!

"My baby!"

Percy took a step back, but Oliver didn't let go of his shoulders. He blinked, hoping for an explanation, but Oliver continued to wail. He took a deep breath and tried to keep his voice steady. "Excuse me?"

"They stole my baby!"

Percy took another calming breath. "What are you talking about?"

Oliver's grip on his shoulders tightened. "My baby! They stole my baby!"

"…you don't have a baby."

Alright. So he hadn't misheard. Oliver seemed to have lost his mind, not his baby. His imaginary baby. Percy closed his eyes and prayed that the day was not going to be worse, but judging by the way Oliver was now clawing at his robes, it was a futile hope.

He sighed. "Who stole you baby?"

Oliver tore away from Percy with a wild snarl and pointed to the other end of the Quidditch pitch. "They did!"

Percy followed his line of sight: Oliver's teammates. He sighed again—he had a feeling he would be doing it a lot if the situation wasn't rectified soon—and approached them. Perhaps it had been a bad idea to visit Oliver during training, if the terrified looks he was receiving were anything to go by.

Percy gave them all a courtesy smile. "Good afternoon."

"Hey, Percy," Megan, one of the Beaters, returned. Henry and Steven, Chasers standing on either side of her, echoed the greeting.

None of them were looking at him, though, and Percy was annoyed until he saw the trepidation with which they were looking at Oliver. He carefully stepped in between them and did his best to ignore Oliver's continued muttering.

"Can someone please tell me why my boyfriend's convinced he's got a child?" he asked, plastering a smile onto his face to prevent himself from yelling. "And why he thinks you've stolen it?"

"My baby—"

"Shut up." Percy turned away from him. "Well?"

"We didn't steal his child—"

"We didn't steal anything," Megan corrected. "We took away his broom because…" She gestured vaguely to Oliver. "Well. He wasn't acting like himself. After a while, I mean. He came in and he was normal—I think." She looked at Henry and Steven, who nodded, and she continued: "But then he didn't stop playing and he got angry when we suggested we take a break."

"So we took away his broom."

Steven nodded. "We'd been practicing for hours!"

Percy bit his lip. Oliver could be a slave-driver of a Captain—back at Hogwarts and now that he was in charge of Puddlemere United—but he'd never outright ignored his teammates before.

"Right. I'll take him home, then." Percy sighed again—he had been right, after all: it was going to be a difficult day—and turned to Oliver. "Ready?"

An excited grin broke out over Oliver's face. "I'm getting my broom back?"

"No!" Percy swallowed and composed himself. "No. We're going home."

"Home?" Oliver scoffed, and he sounded so unlike himself that Percy took a step back. "Look, Percy, I don't know who you think you are, but if you think you're keeping me from the Pitch, you're wrong."

"Oliver?"

"I thought you were going to help me get my broom back, but…" The harsh expression disappeared and Oliver once again swooned to the ground. "I'm never going to see my baby again!"

"The broom's the baby," Percy muttered under his breath.

He hadn't signed up for this. His and Oliver's relationship was the perfect balance of work and love, but… Something felt off. Oliver was dramatic, yes—it was funny, most of the time, and when it wasn't, Percy played the doting boyfriend—but…

"How about we go home for the day and get your broom tomorrow?" he offered.

"I am home!"

"No, you are not." Percy spoke clearly, calmly, and slowly. He was not prepared to deal with Oliver in this state, but this was what he'd signed up for: the good and the bad. "You live with me, remember?"

Oliver's "What?" sent Percy's heart plummeting to his knees.

He floundered for a moment, but managed to recover enough to raise his heart to the vicinity of his stomach. "You live with me, remember? Your boyfriend?"

Oliver's responding scoff sent Percy's heart down to his feet, where it resolved to stay. "I have one love, Percy, and that's Quidditch. And on that note, we've wasted enough time." He stood up and stalked off to the goalposts. "I'm practicing whether or not I have my broomstick!"

.oOo.

At least Oliver's hyperfixation on Quidditch was explained by his having completely forgotten everything else. Percy hadn't been successful in getting him off the Quidditch Pitch the previous night, and his back now protested his decision to sleep in the changing room; he'd been too on-edge to Transfigure himself a flawless bed.

That was what love did to a person.

Percy found the energy to scoff at himself, but his worry about Oliver overshadowed his annoyance.

He'd sent a quick Patronus to Oliver's team the previous night, because Oliver had been normal when he'd left Percy in the morning! They'd made plans for lunch, the only reason he'd gone to the Pitch in the first place.

Percy looked up at Oliver, who was flying around the hoops—who'd been doing so for the past three hours since he'd woken up.

Quidditch, Quidditch, Quidditch… that was all Oliver was talking about. His broom, his hoops, his Quaffles, the absence of his team, and the impending game against the Wigtown Wanderers. After Megan, Henry, and Steven had left, he'd become even more insufferable.

That had been Percy's word of choice at the time. Now he felt that devastating worked even better.

Oliver's frantic need for his broom had given way to a manic need to defeat the Wanderers; he'd talked more and more about the other team, the almost-obsession becoming more focused, more distinct. Almost as if—

Percy jumped up with a shout. Of course!—Almost as if he'd been enchanted.

There was no way it had been someone on Oliver's team. Not only were they too good to do something like that, but Percy had lived with Fred and George for years. He could see—instinctively—when someone was guilty.

"Oliver!" he called.

No response. Of course not. Percy wouldn't be paid attention to until the charm was off, unless… he cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted: "The Wigtown Wanderers are sabotaging you!"

It worked like magic—ha!—and Oliver zoomed down, looking murderous.

"We'll go to their stadium and fix everything, okay… but you're not allowed to do anything until we figure out what exactly they did. Oliver?" Percy forced eye contact and was relieved to see that Oliver hadn't lost all common sense and was listening. "Promise me you're going to stop practicing and come with me."

"It'll help me beat them." Oliver got off his broom and slung it over his shoulder, then placed his hand on Percy's arm. "Side-Along Apparition's good."

Percy swallowed. They always held hands when they Apparated—and when they did other things—but Oliver's grip was impersonal and his voice was cold… It hurt to see how completely he'd been forgotten.

Enough of that, Percy thought as he marched onto the Wigtown Wanderers' training Pitch. They were the most likely culprits; he was already preparing several questions to make sure of that. Then again, he amended when he saw their nervous faces as they made eye contact, sometimes guilt was just obvious.

"What did you do?" he demanded.

The Captain stepped forward. "We didn't think you'd mind—"

"Mind!" —Percy took special care to inject venom into every word— "Why on earth would I have any objection to what you did?"

"It's harmless!" One of the players in Beater robes squeaked. "It's all meant in good favor."

"Good favor?" Percy scoffed. "Oh, of course. Why didn't I realise? I've just never seen such good favor before. Sure, let's all get matching tattoos and we can dance the polka!" He took a calming breath—he was not one for explosive anger, but where Oliver was concerned… Love made people do crazy things, as he'd already discovered. Calming down didn't work, however, and Percy instead gestured up to where Oliver was already circling the Wanderers' Keeper's hoops. "Look at him! He's completely obsessed with Quidditch—he's forgotten we're dating!"

"Wait." The Seeker stepped forward. "He's obsessed with Quidditch?"

The Chasers exchanged a look; one of them muttered, "Shit."

Percy's eyes widened. "You mean you didn't mean to make him obsessed with Quidditch? You sent an incompetent jinx at my boyfriend—and you expect there to be no objection?"

"We meant for him to become obsessed with you instead of the game—"

"So he wouldn't go so hard on us when we played."

The Keeper nodded at what the Beaters said and attempted a placating smile as she held out a paper. "Here's the spell."

Percy grabbed it and scoffed. "Amateurs."

A pronunciation mistake or something as simple as an incorrect wand movement… Had he not been so relieved that it would be easy to fix, Percy would have been furious. As it was, love made people do odd things, like make lunch plans despite living together, forget basic Transfiguration, and spend hours together despite a case of severe spell-induced amnesia—and forgive severe magic misuse.

He stalked away from the Wanderers, wand already out and pointed up at Oliver. His boyfriend would be back and no one would be harmed—until Oliver beat the Wanderers when they played.