AND THEY CALLED IT PUPPY LOVE
SOMEONE HELP ME, HELP ME, HELP ME PLEASE…
♫ NOW PLAYING: PUPPY LOVE - PAUL ANKA ♫
WC: 3.6K
summary: where you’ve shared all the same classes with Tom Riddle for months… and never spoken a word. He wasn’t planning to stay at the school dance for long until he sees you at the drink stand. Curiosity brings him over, and suddenly you’re talking. And talking. And talking. One corner of the ballroom, soft lights, a little dancing - and the boy everyone swears will never care about anyone is laughing, leaning in, and stealing all the attention he never gave before. By the end of the night, it’s clear nothing has changed in the world around you… except him.
★ SLYTHERIN BOYS THROUGH THE ERAS!
A 1950s AU ㅤꨄ︎
Flashes of red and pink washed over the Hogwarts hall. Heart-shaped balloons drifted lazily above the dance floor, charmed to bob along with the soft love songs playing from the enchanted speakers. The sun had long since set, leaving the moon and a hundred floating candles to cast a warm yellow glow over the room.
You stood off to the side, nursing a cup of “love punch” - which the teachers still didn’t realize had been improved by students with contraband additions. It wasn’t that you couldn’t be out there dancing. You’d been asked, several times in fact, but you’d turned each one down gently. There was no point going with someone you didn’t actually want. A solo mission seemed easier.
But now your dress felt a little too tight, your hair a little too loose, and the whole party a little too loud. You were only a few minutes away from slipping out entirely.
What you didn’t notice was Tom Riddle watching you from across the ballroom.
Like you, he’d come alone - though not because he’d rejected anyone. No one had dared ask him. Tom’s reputation preceded him: distant, immaculate, untouchable. You two shared every class, sat only a few desks apart, and yet had never spoken.
He took a sip of the spiked love punch, and whether it was the drink or something else entirely, something tugged at him - a strange, foreign impulse.
Before he fully understood why, Tom was weaving through the crowd, the music swelling behind him as he crossed the dance floor straight toward you.
You had your back to the party, setting your cup down and preparing to leave, when you turned around, and screamed.
Several couples jerked out of their slow-dance haze, staring at you for a solid three seconds before drifting back into their world of soft music and candlelight.
Your reaction was justified, though. Because Tom Riddle was standing directly in front of you. Not saying a word.
Just…standing there, hair slightly mussed, a faint flush on his usually immaculate cheeks.
‘Hello,’ he said stiffly. ‘I’m Tom.’
‘Yes, I know. We’re in the same classes.’
‘I’m aware.’
You blinked at him. He didn’t elaborate. His gaze stayed fixed and intense, and you found yourself glancing anywhere else just to escape the weight of it. After a beat, you exhaled.
‘Well, if that’s all-’ you started, stepping to the side.
‘So, do you come here often?’ he blurted.
You stared. ‘Tom. The dance is annual.’
‘Right. Right.’
He looked down at his cup, grimaced, and tossed the rest back like he needed courage.
Your brows lifted. You hated to admit it, but you were…intrigued. Tom Riddle didn’t talk to people. He didn’t even look at people unless he had to. Why you, and why now?
‘So what brings you here?’ you asked cautiously.
‘Oh,’ Tom said, lowering the empty cup. ‘I just wanted to see what everyone raves about. Safe to say…this isn’t that great.’
‘Yeah, tell me about it,’ you muttered, glancing toward the crowded dance floor.
‘Why aren’t you there? Dancing with someone?’ Tom asked.
‘No one really piqued my interest.’
His eyes flicked to yours - quickly, sharply - like he was trying to read something, or hide something.
‘Right,’ he murmured. ‘Of course.’
You waited for him to walk away - that’s what he usually did when conversations ended. But instead, he stayed there. Hovering. Almost…nervous?
Your eyes narrowed. ‘Why? Are you conducting a survey on everyone’s dance habits?’
‘No,’ he said quickly. ‘I just-’
He stopped, brows drawing together as though he was surprised by his own stuck tongue. ‘I just wondered.’
That was the moment you realized: Tom Riddle was flustered. The thought nearly made you swallow a laugh.
‘Well,’ you said lightly, ‘same question back at you. Why aren’t you dancing?’
His expression faltered, almost offended. ‘I don’t dance.’
‘Oh? Can’t?’ you teased.
Tom straightened. ‘I didn’t say that.’
‘So you can dance.’
‘I didn’t say that either.’
You pressed your lips together to keep from smiling.
He looked away, jaw tightening a little - not in anger, but in…embarrassment? When he turned back to you, the flush on his cheeks had deepened, though he tried to mask it behind an indifferent tone.
‘I just don’t see the point,’ he said.
You folded your arms. ‘Talking to me, though - that has a point?’
He hesitated. His throat bobbed.
‘…Yes.’
Your heartbeat stuttered. Just a little.
Before you could find a response, a loud swell of music rose behind you as the next slow song began. Couples drifted past, spinning softly beneath the candlelight. The whole hall glowed in warm pinks and golds, and somehow Tom looked even more out of place standing here - the immaculate boy with the immaculate reputation, talking to you like he didn’t quite know how he’d gotten here.
He shifted again, eyes flicking to the dance floor, then back to you. ‘If you’re leaving,’ he said, ‘I’ll walk with you.’
You shook your head. ‘I’m not leaving yet.’
‘…Good.’
The word slipped out too naturally, like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. You blinked at him, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. Tom inhaled, then gestured stiffly toward a quieter corner of the hall.
‘Do you want to - sit? Away from all…this?’
He waved vaguely at the dancing couples, the lights, the music, the entire world. It was strangely charming.
You raised a brow. ‘Are you asking me to sit with you, Tom?’
He swallowed. ‘…Yes.’
‘Well,’ you said, feeling your lips curl into a smile, ‘since no one here piques my interest…maybe you can try.’
You stepped past him toward the corner, and for a moment, Tom didn’t move - like he was stunned you’d said yes.
Then he followed.
You reached the quieter corner of the hall, where the music was softer and the candles flickered more gently, and took a seat on one of the cushioned benches. Tom settled beside you a moment later, leaving just enough space to be polite, but close enough that you could feel the faint warmth of him.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then Tom said, very abruptly,
‘I’ve never been to one of these.’
‘A dance?’ you asked.
‘A…social function.’ He said it like the words tasted foreign.
‘Really?’ you teased. ‘Shocking. You seem like such a people person.’
His head snapped toward you, eyes widening in genuine confusion. ‘Do I?’
You burst into laughter. ‘Tom. Absolutely not.’
He blinked once, then let out a breath that might have been a laugh, if Tom Riddle allowed himself such human reactions.
‘I suspected as much,’ he murmured.
Silence settled again, but a comfortable one this time.
Your eyes drifted back to the dance floor. ‘Honestly,’ you said, ‘I only came because I thought maybe it would be different this year.’
‘Different how?’
‘I don’t know. More fun. More…magical.’
He considered this. ‘And it isn’t?’
‘Not really. But talking to you is more interesting than anything else that’s happened tonight, so I suppose it wasn’t all for nothing.’
Tom stared at you like you’d handed him the answer to a question he’d never asked out loud. He looked away quickly.
‘What about you?’ you asked. ‘Why come if you’re just going to lurk in corners?’
‘I wasn’t lurking,’ he protested lightly.
‘Tom, you were absolutely lurking.’
He paused. ‘Fine. Perhaps a bit.’
‘So why come at all?’
He exhaled slowly, gaze drifting across the hall as if gathering the words from somewhere far away. ‘I wanted to see what it was like,’ he said. ‘Everyone talks about these things as though they’re…defining.’
‘Of what?’
‘Youth. Friendship. Connection.’
He looked down at his hands. ‘I wanted to know what everyone else seems to understand.’
His honesty startled you. It was strange, strangely tender, to hear him speak this way.
‘And have you figured it out?’ you asked softly.
Tom’s eyes met yours. The candlelight caught in them, warm and sharp all at once.
‘I think,’ he said quietly, ‘that it is not the event itself that matters.’
‘Then what does?’
His voice lowered.
‘Who you’re with.’
Your stomach flipped.
The moment lingered, delicate and bright, until Tom suddenly cleared his throat, breaking the tension.
‘Tell me something,’ he said quickly.
‘Something?’
‘Anything. About you. I don’t…know much.’
You raised a brow. ‘You want to?’
He looked puzzled that you had to ask.
‘Yes.’
So you told him a small thing - your favourite subject. He actually listened. He asked another question. Then another.
And the strangest thing happened: Tom Riddle became…chatty.
‘If you weren’t a witch,’ he said eventually, ‘what would you want to be?’
‘A journalist,’ you replied. ‘Travel the world. Write about whatever I see.’
Tom hummed thoughtfully. ‘I can picture that.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You strike me as someone who notices everything.’
You tilted your head. ‘Do I?’
His eyes flicked to yours, then quickly downwards. ‘Yes,’ he said, more quietly. ‘You notice me.’
The comment hit you unexpectedly.
He kept talking, unaware of the effect he’d had. ‘What else?’ he asked. ‘What do you want?’
You shrugged. ‘To fall in love, I guess.’
Tom froze. You almost laughed. ‘Not tonight. Just eventually.’
He didn’t relax. At all.
‘What?’ you teased. ‘Does the concept offend you?’
‘No,’ he said stiffly. ‘I just…don’t understand it.’
‘Love?’
‘Any of it.’
You smiled softly. ‘That’s okay. You don’t have to.’
He paused, studying your expression with a focus so intense it was almost unsettling.
‘But you want to,’ you added. ‘Don’t you?’
His throat worked. ‘Perhaps.’
‘Why?’ His gaze dropped to your lips, just for a second, before snapping back up.
‘Because…’ He hesitated. ‘…tonight, things feel different.’
Your breath stilled. ‘Different how?’ you whispered.
He didn’t answer. Not yet.
He just looked at you - really looked - like he was trying to figure out what was happening to him. And for Tom Riddle, that was an answer in itself.
Tom shifted slightly, turning just enough to face you. His knee brushed yours - barely - but it was enough to send a warm flicker straight up your spine. He noticed too. He didn’t move away.
‘Can I ask you something?’ he said suddenly.
‘You’ve already asked me about twelve things,’ you teased.
‘Well…can I ask you another?’
‘Go on, then.’
He hesitated - which for Tom Riddle meant something enormous.
‘Why did you reject all the people who asked you to come tonight?’
You blinked. ‘You were watching?’
‘Not intentionally,’ he said quickly, then corrected, ‘Not entirely intentionally.’
You laughed. ‘Wow. What an admission.’
A faint shade of pink crept over his cheekbones. ‘I meant that I…noticed. Each time.’
‘And how many times is “each time”?’
He looked away. ‘Several.’
You grinned. ‘You counted.’
‘I did not count,’ he snapped softly, then added under his breath, ‘I simply kept track.’
You raised an eyebrow. ‘That’s…literally counting.’
Tom ignored that. He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, fingers tapping together as though he was thinking hard. ‘So?’ he asked again. ‘Why reject them?’
‘I told you. I wasn’t interested,’ you said simply.
‘In any of them?’
‘Nope.’
He frowned - the kind of frown people make when solving a puzzle that won’t cooperate.
‘There must have been someone you could tolerate.’
You laughed. ‘Tom. I don’t want to go to a dance with someone I can tolerate. That’s depressing.’
‘Then what did you want?’
‘Someone I’d actually want to spend the night with. Talking to. Being around.’
His breath caught - barely audible, but you heard it.
‘Oh,’ he said softly.
You tilted your head. ‘And you? Why didn’t you come with anyone?’
Tom’s jaw tensed. ‘Nobody asked me.’
You blinked at him. ‘Really?’
‘Really,’ he said flatly. ‘People don’t…approach me.’
‘Why not?’ He stared at you like you’d asked why the sky was blue.
‘You know why.’
‘But I want to hear you say it.’
He shifted, uncomfortable.
‘People find me…intimidating.’
You smiled gently. ‘Only because you look like you’re planning world domination at all times.’
He actually laughed - short, startled, disbelieving. ‘Do I?’
‘Yes,’ you said. ‘But then you talk and you’re…not what people assume.’
He studied you, eyes sharp but warm. ‘What do you think I am?’
‘A lot softer than you want people to know.’
He went still. Very still. ‘You shouldn’t say things like that,’ he murmured.
‘Why?’
He looked down, clearing his throat, trying to pull himself back into composure. ‘Tell me another thing about you,’ he said. ‘Something…unexpected.’
You thought for a moment. ‘Alright. I like collecting things.’
‘Collecting what?’ he asked, sounding genuinely curious.
‘Little things. Things people don’t notice. Bottle caps, ticket stubs, notes. Memories, I suppose.’
‘Memories,’ he echoed, as if tasting the word.
‘Yeah. I like keeping pieces of moments. Makes me feel like time doesn’t just slip away.’
Tom considered this, then nodded slowly.
‘I understand that,’ he said. ‘Wanting to hold on to things.’
‘Oh? What do you hold on to?’
He hesitated for a long moment. Then: ‘I’m still figuring that out.’
You waited. You didn’t push.
He looked at you again - really looked - eyes flicking over every small detail, like he was memorizing you.
‘You’re very…easy to talk to,’ he said quietly.
‘You’re not so bad yourself.’
He huffed a small breath, almost smiling. ‘I’ve never talked to anyone this much. Not like this.’
‘Not even your friends?’
‘I don’t have friends.’
‘Tom,’ you said gently, ‘everyone has friends.’
‘Not me.’
‘You could.’
He looked confused. ‘With who?’
You stared at him, and he seemed to realize the answer at the same moment you did.
He swallowed. Hard.
‘You,’ he said softly. ‘You could be.’
A warm flush crept over your neck. You didn’t know what to say. Tom didn’t seem to know either. So he filled the silence with another question. He was full of them tonight.
‘If you could be anywhere right now,’ he asked, ‘where would you want to be?’
You glanced at the glowing room, the music, the couples dancing, the shadows cast by candlelight…Then you looked at him.
‘Here,’ you said.
Something broke across his expression - something stunned, something almost vulnerable.
The song in the background changed to something slower, softer, older.
You shifted toward him, crossing one leg over the other as you leaned your elbow on the back of the bench. ‘My turn,’ you said.
Tom blinked. ‘Your…turn?’
‘To ask questions. You’ve interrogated me enough.’
He went very still. ‘Alright,’ he said slowly, ‘but I reserve the right to decline.’
‘You won’t,’ you said confidently.
His brows lifted. ‘And how do you know?’
‘Because you came over here to talk to me,’ you replied. ‘You clearly want to.’
Tom’s throat bobbed. He didn’t deny it.
You smiled. ‘First question: what did you expect this dance to be like?’
He exhaled. ‘Loud. Pointless. Irritating.’
‘And now?’
A pause. A glance at you. ‘Less pointless,’ he admitted.
You bit your lip to hide your smile. ‘Okay. Question two. What do you actually do when you’re not being intimidating in class?’
Tom blinked. ‘What makes you think I do anything else?’
‘Because no one is intimidating on purpose all the time. That’s exhausting.’
He frowned, thoughtful .‘…I read,’ he said finally. ‘And walk. And think.’
‘About what?’
‘Everything.’
You snorted. ‘That’s not an answer.’
‘It is,’ he insisted. ‘I think about magic. About people. About why things are the way they are.’
‘Do you ever think about yourself?’
He stiffened slightly. ‘Sometimes.’
‘And what do you think?’
‘That,’ he said carefully, ‘is not a simple question.’
‘Good,’ you said. ‘I don’t like simple questions.’
Tom stared at you like you were the most baffling creature alive.
‘Another,’ he said quietly. ‘Ask another.’
You tapped your chin dramatically. ‘Alright. What scares you?’
His eyes widened a fraction. He hadn’t been expecting that one. ‘I’m not scared of anything,’ he said quickly.
‘Liar.’
He looked affronted. ‘I am not lying.’
‘Everyone is scared of something,’ you insisted. ‘Being vulnerable doesn’t make you weak.’
Tom’s eyes softened just a little. ‘I didn’t say that.’
‘Then? What scares you?’
He looked away, jaw tight, thinking far longer than he had for any other question.
When he finally answered, his voice was quieter.
‘Losing control,’ he said. ‘Not knowing what to do. Feeling…’ He cut himself off.
‘Feeling what?’ you pressed gently.
Tom swallowed. ‘Feeling anything,’ he admitted.
Your heart twisted a little. ‘Why is that scary?’
‘Because feelings change people,’ he said. ‘And I don’t know if I like the way they change me.’
You went still. He kept looking at the dance floor, but his voice dropped almost to a whisper.
‘Tonight feels…different,’ he said. ‘And I don’t know what to do with that.’
You leaned closer, your knees touching his.
‘You don’t have to do anything,’ you said softly. ‘You’re allowed to just…feel whatever you’re feeling.’
He finally looked at you again, expression unreadable but not closed-off.
‘You make it sound simple,’ he murmured.
‘It can be.’ You held his gaze steadily. ‘Alright,’ you said. ‘Next question.’
Tom let out a tiny breath, somewhere between nervous and relieved. ‘Go on.’
‘What,’ you asked slowly, ‘did you think about me…before tonight?’
His breath hitched. He blinked twice, stunned you’d asked something so direct. ‘I…noticed you,’ he said after a moment.
‘Not an answer.’
‘I’m thinking,’ he snapped softly, then added in a quieter tone, ‘I noticed you because you seem…untouched by all of it.’
‘All of what?’
‘The noise. The nonsense. The petty things everyone else cares about.’
He paused. ‘You look like you’re searching for something else.’
Your heartbeat fluttered.
‘And what did you think tonight?’ you asked.
Tom’s gaze lingered on your lips before returning to your eyes.
‘That I want to know you,’ he said quietly. ‘More than I realized.’
You inhaled sharply.
The song shifted, slow and warm, curling through the hall like a sigh.
Tom shifted his hand on the bench, only inches from yours, and said:
‘Ask me another.’
You smiled, heart thudding.
‘Alright. Last one for now.’
You leaned in, your shoulder brushing his.
‘What do you want right this second?’
Tom’s voice was barely there.
‘You.’
Tom stared at you like he was still processing his own confession, his breath unsteady, the music curling softly around you both. His fingers, resting just beside yours on the bench, twitched like they wanted to reach for you and didn’t know how.
You held his gaze, heartbeat warm and steady.
‘You know what I want?’ you said.
He blinked.
‘What?’
You rose slowly to your feet, smoothing your dress.
‘For us to dance,’ you said.
A small smile tugged at your lips.
‘Or rather - for me to teach you how to dance.’
Tom actually froze.
Like the concept had stunned him into temporary paralysis.
‘Dance,’ he echoed, as if testing the word for danger.
‘Yes, Tom. Dance.’
He swallowed, eyes flicking from you to the dance floor, then back.
‘And you…you want to do that with me?’
‘Only you,’ you said simply.
Something softened in him then - completely, undeniably.
He stood, slowly, as though the moment might shatter if he moved too fast.
You held out your hand.
He stared at it for a second too long before placing his own in yours, careful and unsure, fingers curling around yours like he’d never held someone’s hand before.
You led him toward the dance floor.
The candles flickered low, couples shifting aside as another soft, dreamy song floated through the hall - Paul Anka’s voice sweet and steady, full of longing.
‘And they called it puppy love…’
You turned to him.
‘Alright,’ you said gently. ‘Start like this.’
You took his other hand and placed it at your waist.
Tom looked at the spot like he couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch you there.
His palm was warm.
Tentative.
‘And what do I do now?’ he murmured.
‘Just follow me,’ you said.
You guided him through a slow step, then another.
At first he was stiff, unsure, counting beats under his breath.
But then you moved closer - just enough - your hand resting lightly at his shoulder, your bodies swaying to the soft rhythm.
And something shifted.
His breath brushed your cheek. His fingers tightened slightly at your waist. His eyes dropped to yours, then to your mouth, then back again.
‘You’re…very good at this,’ he said quietly.
‘Dancing?’
‘Making me forget where I keep my composure.’
You laughed softly, leaning your forehead near his, the moment small but impossibly intimate. ‘That’s part of the lesson,’ you whispered.
He exhaled, a shaky little sound he clearly didn’t intend to make.
You could feel him trying to steady himself - trying to choose words, trying to be rational, failing beautifully.
‘You’re doing fine,’ you murmured.
‘Am I?’ he asked.
‘Mhm.’
His eyes flicked down again—hesitant, hopeful, afraid.
‘Can I…?’ he began.
You didn’t make him finish.
You leaned in, closing the distance just enough for your lips to brush his - soft, warm, the lightest possible kiss.
Barely there, but enough to stop time entirely.
Tom stilled. Then, slowly - carefully - he kissed you back.
Gentle at first, then a shade deeper, as if learning you the way he’d learned the steps.
When you pulled back, his eyes were wide and dazed, as though he’d just discovered an entirely new form of magic.
‘Was that part of the lesson too?’ he whispered.
‘No,’ you said, smiling. ‘That was extra.’
His lips curved - small, shy, genuine.
‘Then,’ he murmured, pulling you a little closer as the song swelled around you, ‘I’d like to learn whatever comes next.’
And the two of you kept dancing, slow and close, under candlelight and Paul Anka’s voice, as the rest of the world quietly disappeared.
Sooo cute!
