Newt Scamander x Reader One Shots

Dance With Me

Female pronouns

Playlist song: Triakontameron, 30 Moods and Scenes in Triple Measure: XI. alt wien
And
Pavane

~~~

"(Y/N), darling, are you almost ready? The Godalmings have just arrived and Arthur's just dying to see you. You know he's fond of you so."

You blinked, shielding your eyes against the sudden glare of white. Since when did you own a pearl hairbrush? Or a gilded silver mirror, or a smooth polished vanity...

"(Y/N)? Are you there?" The woman's lilting voice came again.

"Coming, mother," you called back, pushing the stool back as you stood up on wobbly heels.

Wait, heels?

Yes, heels. The ball was today. The one your father had organized for your 21st birthday.

Of course.

You found yourself gliding towards an ornately carved oak door, surprised at the grace of which your feet pulled you across the floor.

You passed a floor length mirror and almost tripped at what you saw in it; a beautiful woman, clad in a long silver ball gown with pearl thread tracing swirling patterns along the skirt; two dangling diamond earrings, hair pulled up in a curling bun, and a white gold, pearl, and diamond collar that was surely worth more than everything you owned combined.

But the necklace was yours, so it wasn't worth more than everything you owned. You were the daughter of the wealthiest man in the county. Everything in the room was yours; the price of the necklace was only a fraction of that.

Yes, the woman in the mirror was you. Who else would it be?

Poking her head through the door, a small gasp escaped your mother's lips.

"Oh, (Y/N), darling," she breathed, coming towards you to place her hands lovingly on your shoulders. "You look beautiful."

"Thank you, mother," you replied, dipping your head. Your heart tugged at calling this woman mother. No, but she was your mother. Yes, she was. You were sure of it.

Were you?

"Come," she said, taking your arm. "Let's present you to the people."

With matching glides, you and your mother left the room, slipping through arched hallways towards the tinkling bells of people laughing and glasses clinking, the slow melodies of an orchestra playing the newest Beethoven.

But Beethoven had been dead for hundreds of years!

You could have sworn you'd just talked to him last week over afternoon tea... Perhaps it was best for you to avoid the champagne that night.

Trumpets blared as your mother whisked you into the ballroom, announcing your presence to the room of nobles. The ballroom glittered in a surreal light, draped with sparkling silver ribbons and swaths of light that coated the room in a smoky haze of vanilla.

"Lady (Y/N)!" A man bounded up the stairs to you, calling your name with a smile on your face. He took your arm from your mother, flashing her a dazzling smile, and pulled you down the stairs with all the confidence of a gentleman.

"Lord Godalming," you smiled, placing your other hand on his forearm. "How good to see you." You were once worried that Arthur Godalming harbored a secret fancy for you because of some unsavory rumors, which you became distraught over for fear it would ruin your friendship, but it turned out he never had any affinity for you other than the platonic type; in fact, he never had any affinity for any woman other than the platonic type at all. Since his confession, it had been his sole mission to find you a perfect match so that he might dispel the rumors of your affair.