Public affairs never sat well with Newton Scamander. Especially those that involved dancing. What kind of person came up with this ritual of orbiting about a partner whilst performing complicated footwork? It made Newt wildly uncomfortable. He didn’t mind performing a mating display, which one might argue was also a dance (which they were wrong ), however it was completely, wildly different.
This celebration was immensely cheerful. It was the end of the Great War! Newt just wanted to be home or perhaps taking care of the ladies. The dragons would take a lot of time to get back into some semblance of a normal routine after being exposed to warfare, and Newt planned on being there every step of the way. But for now, celebrating. Forced celebration did not exactly seem like a thing to celebrate, but alright.
After hugging the wall and downing a couple flutes of enchanted champagne that giggled the name of war heroes every time you took a sip, Newt was found by Theseus. He was grinning like a madman and reeked of Firewhiskey.
“Newt! There you are! You really should join the fun,” he suggested as he pulled Newt into a very uncalled for embrace, his arm slung over Newt’s shoulder as he tugged him close. Newt forced a chuckle, ducking out from beneath Theseus’ arm.
“I think the fun can continue without me joining it,” he responded, stepping away. His lips were pressed tightly together, unsure whether to form an amused smile or a concerned frown.
“Nonsense, all you gotta do is just… join it!” Theseus gave his brother a rather harsh shove in the direction of the crowd. The magizoologist stumbled into something- no, it was someone. He immediately began to stammer out an apology as strong hands placed themselves on his shoulders, steadying him. As soon as Newt felt that he wasn’t in danger of tipping over, he looked up. His lips parted slightly in shock when he realized who he just stumbled into.
Percival Graves looked more severe in person. He’d seen images of him in the Daily Prophet, but not a hundred pictures nor a thousand could ready Newt for the impact seeing Percival Graves in person had on him. He was prematurely graying at his temples, something that most likely came from the stress of being an auror. Newt said prematurely because, no matter Graves’ age, the soft light that casted from the rotating chandeliers above erased years from his face. His dark eyes were completely focused on Newt’s it was startling, it was overwhelming- Newt had to look away, looking at a spot just above Graves’ shoulder. In short, Percival Graves was attractive and Newt had been gaping at his face for many moments now due to this fact.
“You’re alright, no need to apologize- are you alright?” He asked above the music. Graves’ hands suddenly felt heavy and awkward on Newt’s shoulders. Newt nodded frantically, his fringe bobbing as he did so, stepping out and watching as Graves’ hands fell back to his sides. Graves attempted to keep the conversation.
“You must be Newton Scamander? Theseus spoke very highly of you- we worked together during the war,” he spoke politely and carefully. Newt could feel Graves’ eyes on him like a soft breath on the back of his neck. He swallowed and looked up, not exactly meeting his eyes, but it was an improvement.
“Uh- yes. You’re Mr. Graves? Head of MACUSA’s Law Enforcement?” Newt’s mouth felt dry as he spoke. He wasn’t one for small talk, or much talking for the matter when it came to Homo sapiens. It was even harder to find the words to say when he spoke to someone he was attracted to. He longed for another flute of champagne. Graves’ smiled, which crinkled the corners of his eyes.
“Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, yes. I suppose I shouldn’t inquire about your hobbies, lest I be forced to arrest you?” Percival Graves was joking with him. He was… attempting humor. It made Newt want to blink and make a noise similar to that of an ape. He swallowed, chuckling.
“Uh, I’d prefer not to ruin the night, so if you’d be so kind not to ask, Mr. Graves,” he said, cracking a slight smile. His eyes met Graves’ eyes for a split-second. The man seemed to be studying him closely, before his expression relaxed into a smile.
“You could call me Percival. If you wish.” Did he wink, or was Newt’s mind playing tricks on him? Percival continued, seeming to notice to something over Newt’s shoulder, “It seems I’m needed elsewhere, it was a pleasure meeting you.”
Before he left, he took Newt’s hand in his own. Percival’s hand was smooth, with barely any calluses or dried skin (his fingernails seemed manicured as well- he was such a polished man, really). Newt’s hands were quite the opposite, it was an odd combination. Now to the matter at hand, why had he taken Newt’s hand into his own? Newt understood why when he felt lips brush against his knuckles. He had been too busy wrapped up in his thoughts to notice that the auror had bent down to kiss his hand. A deep blush spread across Newt’s cheeks, nearly taking over his freckles.
”I hope to see you again before the night ends, Mr. Scamander.” He let go of Newt’s hand, stepping away and past Newt.
“Call me Newt!” He called after him once he broke out of his flustered state. However, Percival had disappeared into the crowd. Bloody hell, Newt thought bitterly. He was an absolute dolt, wasn’t he?
After his encounter with Percival Graves, Newt wandered throughout the dancehall, caught up his thoughts. Moreover, he was avoiding Theseus. He placed an empty flute on a tray that drifted past and grabbed a full one before it could escape his sight. Who’s idea was it to make those damn trays move at a brisk pace?
Newt eventually made his way outside, where grand steps were located. His mind kept being pulled back to Percival. How could one man be so magnetic? It was baffling. He felt as though he repelled those around him, whereas Percival seemed to attract them. It was just a feeling, though, as he had just met him. He felt a warm blush creep into his cheeks again. People never stuck with him. He was terrible with names and faces, yet here he was with a face burned on the backs of his eyelids and a name begging to be released from his throat. He groaned and rubbed his face, looking up at the sky. He should head back in. Perhaps he could catch a glance of a certain auror on his way out…
Newt fought his way through people leaving the celebration to get back in, stopping for a breath beneath an archway that led into the dance hall. Leaning against one of the columns that made up the archway, he saw Percival. He was dancing gracefully with a woman in a flowy white dress that floated slightly to keep the train and long sleeves from being caught underfoot. Disappointment bubbled in his chest, but he ignored it. He focused on Percival instead of the woman who was clearly enjoying herself. His lips were pressed in a polite smile.
Newt watched as Percival danced, finding his movements hypnotic. He knew the exact steps to take, the movement to make. He was well practiced. Newt wondered if Graves had been forced to stack books upon his head and waltz. The mental image made him shove his finger into his mouth to stifle a laugh. He forced himself to calm down, glancing around to see if anyone was looking at him strangely. Luckily, most of the wizards and witches around him were too preoccupied with their own affairs.
Newt found himself longing to dance with Percival Graves. He’d never wanted to partake in a dance before, and knew he’d trip over his own shoelaces if he dared to try. He wanted to dare to try. His freckles disappeared beneath the flush of his cheeks. Then he realized he had lost sight of Percival. He craned his neck, looking for him frantically.
“Are you looking for someone in particular, Newt?” A voice spoke in his ear. Newt whirled around, eyes wide. Percival smiled down at him, a thick, dark brow raised.
“Uh, erm- yes.” He nodded, brow furrowed seriously.
“May I ask who? Perhaps I could help,” he said, straightening from where he had leaned in to speak in Newt’s ear.
“Well, actually, you see I was… I was looking for you,” he admitted.
“Looking for me? I’m honored. Is there something you need?” Percival smiled, quirking an eyebrow. Newt swallowed, suddenly determined.
“Dance with me,” he spoke quickly, yet with purpose. Percival seemed surprised, eyes widened and brow raised. He regained his composure quickly and with poise.
“I’m at your beck and call, Newt,” he offered his arm, smiling over his shoulder as he turned towards the dance floor. Newt took Percival’s arm and was lead to the midst of the swirling fabrics and heated bodies.
Newt didn’t dance. He never had to. He had no idea why he was suddenly set on dancing for the first time in his life with Percival Graves. He was going to make a fool of himself. Percival glanced over at him, seeming to sense his anxiety.
“Follow my lead,” he said lowly, before turning and taking position. His hand rested on Newt’s waist and his free hand took Newt’s.
“Put your hand on my shoulder- yes, that’s it. Now, watch my feet and-” he began to count as he moved. Newt tried to understand, he did. He knew it was supposed to be simple, yet found he couldn’t catch on. Percival persevered, however, taking it slow as he held Newt close to him.
After Newt stepped on Percival’s foot for the fifth time and was this close to apparating home, he stopped.
“Have you tired yourself out, Newt?” Percival asked softly, yet Newt could still somehow hear him over the music.
“No, I’m- I’m sorry, Percival, I’m making a fool out of both of us, aren’t I?” He gave a watery chuckle, his hand leaving the auror’s to rub the back of his neck.
“You’re just out of practice, it’s no worry. We could just spin if you wanted to, it doesn’t matter. None of that fancy footwork has to be involved. Just enjoy the night with me, please?” He sounded hopeful as he spoke. The glittering lights shined in his eyes and Newt found himself unable to say no.
So, as the two spun beneath the twinkling ceiling of the ballroom, they found themselves celebrating the end of the terrible war together and welcoming an era of tentative peace.