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Like most things Albus hated at Hogwarts, broomboarding could be traced directly back to Geoffrey Creevey.
Legend had it (and by "legend," Albus meant "Tim wouldn't shut up about it") that Geoff discovered it purely by accident during a visit to his American relatives in Minneapolis. He'd gone to something called "X-Games" in summer 2018 and became obsessed with Muggle skateboarding. There was nothing inherently magical about skateboarding... yet. That wasn't until a bit later when—because the universe loved nothing more than giving Geoff Creevey another claim to fame—he bought an old, used skateboard in some Muggle junk shop with shoddy wheels. He could afford a new "board", but according to Geoff: "The board just... spoke to me. Plus it's a bit more authentic to go vintage."
Learning to ride the board felt "just like riding a broom"—again, according to Creevey. But one day, the dodgy wheels fell off, mid-kick. But instead of crashing into a parked car or, worse, headlong into traffic (either of which would have suited Albus much better), the skateboard took to the skies, with Geoff still on board. "Apparently," Geoff told his fellow third years once school started, "the board was made from cobbled together wizards brooms. Upcycled, they call it!"
Since then, broomboarding had infected Hogwarts like Spattergroit. Everyone was transfiguring old brooms into flat boards, whizzing through corridors between classes. Even the teachers had given up trying to stop it, though Professor McGonagall did insist on "reasonable safety measures"—which basically meant you couldn't go higher than three feet off the ground inside the castle. Outside, though? That's where things got mental.
"It's really quite brilliant," Scorpius had said just yesterday, watching Geoff demonstrate some complicated aerial maneuver for a group of admiring fourth-years. "The way he combined Muggle and magical engineering..."
Albus might have gagged a bit too loudly at that, because Tim gave him one of his patented American "you're being obvious" looks.
Which was probably why karma decided that today, of all days, was perfect for a wayward third-year to careen directly into Albus's back, sending him sprawling face-first onto the flagstones. Right in front of Scorpius. And Geoff. And what felt like half of Hogwarts.
"Sorry!" squeaked the third-year, his broomboard spinning lazily in the air above them. "I was trying the Creevey Crossover and—"
Of course it was a Creevey Crossover.
Of course it was.
"You alright there, Potter?" Geoff asked, because of course he'd be the first to help. Perfect prefect instincts and all that.
Albus might have responded with something witty and cutting, but his face was currently having an intimate moment with centuries-old stonework. Besides, any clever retort died in his throat when he felt Scorpius's hand on his shoulder.
"Al? Are you okay?"
And just like that, Albus forgot how to breathe properly. Brilliant. Nothing said "totally casual crush" like respiratory failure.
"'M’fine," he managed, which would have been more convincing if he hadn't winced while trying to sit up. His nose felt like it had a personal vendetta against the rest of his face.
"Here—" Geoff started, reaching down to help, but Scorpius was faster.
"Careful," Scorpius said, his hand still on Albus's shoulder as he helped him up. "You're bleeding."
Oh brilliant. Because this situation needed more humiliation.
"Standard broomboarding injury," Geoff offered helpfully, as if this somehow made it better. "Nothing Madam Pomfrey can't sort out in a minute. Though your technique for falling was a bit off—"
"I wasn't attempting a technique," Albus snapped, then immediately regretted it when Scorpius's hand dropped from his shoulder. "I was attempting to walk to class. Like a normal person." Albus fished around in his pockets for a handkerchief. Bleeding all over yourself in front of your crush was much more dignified if you did it with proper British manners.
"Here, use mine," Scorpius said, pulling out an impossibly clean handkerchief with an embroidered 'M' in one corner. Because of course the Malfoys had personalized handkerchiefs. "Tilt your head forward a bit—"
And then Scorpius's fingers were on Albus's chin, gently adjusting the angle, and he forgot about his nose entirely because Scorpius Malfoy was touching his face and—
"And this," Geoff chimed in, announcing to the onlookers and shattering the moment like a Reducto to the soul, “is something you’d all learn in First Aid for Magical Sports.” The he rounded on Albus and Scorpius. “You should come to the next broomboarding session—might help with your sense of balance."
Albus didn't miss the way Scorpius's eyes lit up at that suggestion. Or the way Geoff smiled back. Or the way his stomach twisted into knots at both.
"Right," he said, pulling away from Scorpius's hand. "I'll just go see Madam Pomfrey then. Alone. Because I can walk. Normally. Like a normal person who walks normally."
Tim's eye-roll could probably be seen from space.
"I'll come with—" Scorpius started, but Albus was already speed-walking away, handkerchief pressed to his nose, dignity bleeding out faster than his actual injury.
Behind him, he heard Tim say something that sounded suspiciously like "Merlin's pants, you're both hopeless," but he was too busy having an existential crisis about the fact that he still had Scorpius's handkerchief to care.
Though he might have slowed down just enough to hear Scorpius ask Geoff, "Do you really think I'd be good at broomboarding?"
He walked faster.
§
Madam Pomfrey took one look at Albus and sighed. "Broomboarding?"
"Walking," Albus corrected, still holding Scorpius's handkerchief to his nose. "I was walking. The broomboarding happened to me. There's a difference."
"Mm-hmm." She gestured to his usual bed—and wasn't that just tragic, having a usual bed in the hospital wing?—before turning to her supplies. "That's the third broomboarding incident today. Though you're the first actual pedestrian casualty. Shall I write up the incident report as 'failed to yield to oncoming traffic' or 'unwilling participant in experimental magical transport'?"
"How about 'victim of the universe's ongoing vendetta against my dignity'?"
"That's not on the standard form, dear." She gently pulled the handkerchief away from his face, then paused. "This is new. Usually you just bleed everywhere until you get here."
Albus felt his face heat up. "It's, er... borrowed."
"Borrowed?" She raised an eyebrow, examining the elegant 'M' embroidered in the corner. "From young Mr Malfoy, perhaps?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
"No, I suppose you wouldn't." She tapped his nose with her wand, and Albus felt the familiar tingle of healing magic. "Though you might want to clean this before returning it. Unless you're planning to keep it as a souvenir?"
"I hate everything," Albus muttered, which only made her smile more.
"Now, now, Mr Potter. Teenage angst is not a medical condition." She handed him a Blood-Replenishing Potion. "Though if it were, you'd be terminal."
Tim chose that moment to appear in the doorway, because apparently Americans had never heard of private suffering. "Dude, you left your bag back there. Scorpius picked it up, but then Geoff started showing him this sick aerial move, and—" He stopped, taking in Albus's expression. "You know what? Never mind. Not important."
"No, please, continue describing how Geoff is corrupting my boy—" Albus caught himself, "—my best friend with his stupid American sport."
"First of all, skateboarding is fire. Second, you can't blame America for this one."
"Everything's ‘fire’ to you," Albus grumbled. "And I can blame America for whatever I want. It's a Britain's national pastime."
Madam Pomfrey cleared her throat. "If you two are quite finished with your international relations debate, you're free to go, Mr Potter. Though perhaps try to stay on the ground for the rest of the day?"
"That's the plan. Assuming the ground stays where it's supposed to be and doesn't suddenly sprout broomboarders."
"You know," Tim said as they left the hospital wing, "you could just learn to broomboard. Then maybe you could join them instead of plotting Geoff's downfall every time Scorpius looks impressed by a trick."
"I'm not plotting his downfall." At Tim's look, he added, "Much."
"Right. And that's definitely not Scorpius's handkerchief you're still holding."
Albus looked down at the bloodstained cloth in his hand. The 'M' seemed to mock him. "Shut up."
"You're going to have to give it back eventually."
"Maybe I'll just avoid him forever instead."
"Because that's working out so well for you so far?"
"I hate you."
"No you don't." Tim grinned. "Besides, Scorpius asked me to make sure you were okay. Three times. In the five minutes it took me to walk here."
Albus definitely didn't feel his heart skip at that. "He did?"
"See? Hopeless. Both of you." Tim shook his head. "Come on, we're late for Potions. Unless you want to skip and practice some broomboarding...?"
"I will hex you."
"No you won't. Come on. We got Potions next."
§
Potions would have been fine if Scorpius hadn't smiled at Albus as soon as he arrived.
"I got your bag," Scorpius said, patting Albus’s bag sitting next to him. "Also, are you okay? Your nose looks better. Not that it looked bad before. I mean, it did, it was bleeding, but—"
"Smooth," Tim whispered as he passed them to sit with Rose.
"Thanks," Albus managed, sliding onto his stool and definitely not thinking about how Scorpius had touched his face earlier. "For the bag. And the, um..." He pulled out the handkerchief, now sporting various shades of dried blood. "Sorry about this."
"Oh! No, keep it. I mean, not forever, obviously, but until you can clean it. Or I could clean it? Unless you want to keep it? Not that you'd want to keep a bloody handkerchief, that would be weird, and—"
"Today," Professor Chang interrupted, saving them both from whatever that conversation was becoming, "we'll be brewing Pain-Relief Potion. A particularly relevant choice for some of us." She looked pointedly at Albus. "Partners will work together to—"
Albus stopped listening, because Scorpius had just pulled out his textbook and their arms were touching and this was fine, everything was fine.
"Should I get the ingredients?" Scorpius asked.
"What? Oh. Yeah. Good. That would be... good."
Tim made a sound like a strangled cat trying to hold in laughter.
The actual brewing part should have been simple enough. They'd made Pain-Relief Potion before. Multiple times. But somehow Albus kept losing count of his clockwise stirs, probably because Scorpius kept leaning close to check their progress and smelling like expensive soap and—
"That's thirteen," Scorpius said quietly.
"What?"
"Stirs. You're at thirteen. It needs fifteen."
"Right. Yes. Numbers. I know numbers."
Behind them, Tim's strangled cat impression got worse, joined this time by Rose.
"So," Scorpius said as Albus finished stirring, "about broomboarding—"
The stirring rod slipped from Albus's hand and clattered against the cauldron.
"—Geoff's organizing this workshop thing the weekend we get back from Autumn Break and I thought maybe we could go? Together? I mean, not together-together, obviously, but like, at the same time? In the same place?"
That would be in two weeks. A fortnight! Albus briefly considered drinking their half-finished potion just to end this conversation.
"I don't really..." he started, then made the mistake of looking at Scorpius, who had his hopeful face on. The one that made Albus agree to things like helping harvest Bubotuber pus or taste-testing Bertie Bott's suspicious new flavors. "I mean, I'm not very..."
"I'll be there too," Scorpius added quickly. "Learning, I mean. So we'd both be beginners. It could be fun?"
Tim was now making a noise that suggested the strangled cat was being tickled.
"I..." Albus looked down at their potion, which had turned the exact shade of pink that his face probably was. "Yeah, okay."
"Really?" Scorpius beamed. "Brilliant! I'll tell Geoff—"
The stirring rod, which Albus had just picked up again, made another bid for freedom.
"—he'll be so excited to teach us both! He's got this whole curriculum planned out and everything."
"Of course he does," Albus muttered.
From the next table over, Tim had progressed to what sounded like a strangled cat trying not to say 'I told you so' in American.
"Mr McCallister," Professor Chang called out, "are you quite alright?"
"Peachy," Tim wheezed. "Just... peachy."
Albus spent the rest of the lesson trying very hard not to think about how he'd just agreed to let Geoffrey Creevey teach him how to fly on a flat piece of wood. Together with Scorpius. Not together-together, obviously, but like, at the same time. In the same place.
He was so screwed.