Just Want You To Know

So. You're sitting here, alone in the dark, watching some crappy movie on Lifetime while Harry's out on a date with his girlfriend, Wave.

Wow, aren't you pathetic?

It's been three hours since he left, but you're still sitting here, puzzling over something that has been bugging you for awhile now.

What kind of name is Wave, anyway?

Seriously, who names their daughter that? What is she, like, like, a... a sort of a... a wave or something?

Oh, yeah. That's a good one. That's gotta sting.

But really! How could Harry date someone named Wave?

...not that you care. What does it matter to you who Harry dates? It doesn't. He can date whoever he wants, whether her names is Wave, or Mary, or Soda, or Mildred, or Cas--

Er. Cassandra. Cassandra Novak. Not Casey Daniels. Not you.

Because it's not like you care about him. Not like that. Wouldn't matter if you did. Harry just doesn’t like you in that way.

Not that you care, of course.

The door slams, and you shoot up, pretending that you're engrossed with the two teenage girls giggling about a boy on the TV.

"Hey, Case."

You nod to him for a greeting. "Back so soon?" Not that it matters.

He shrugs. "Yeah."

"Have fun?"

Why are you asking this? Why do you want to know? You don't. You don't care about Harry, remember?

There's a pause. "I guess."

"What happened?" You're just trying to be a friend, you think, trying to justify your curiosity. There are no ulterior motives here.

Another shrug. "Nothing. It was perfect."

Your heart sinks. "Oh." No. You don't fucking care! It doesn't matter if Harry has the perfect girlfriend! God, even her ridiculous name is perfect. Wave. Sure, it's weird, but it's completely unique and intriguing. You hear "Wave!" called out on the street, you want to know more, and why the person is calling someone a wave. You'll at least stop to make sure no one's signalling that there's a tsunami headed your way. That's not like Casey. What a fucking boring, common, unoriginal name. Your name is nowhere near good enough for Harry.

Not that it needs to be. It's... just an... example.

"It's just..."

And for a moment, a single, solitary moment, you have hope.

But he stops and shakes his head. "Nothing. Everything's perfect. I'll be in my room."

"Perfect," you mutter, as he leaves the room. Everything's just fucking perfect.

So. You're sitting here, alone in the dark, just like before. And, just like before, you're waiting for Harry.

Pathetic, thy name is Casey.

Except tonight's Valentine's Day, and in the back of your mind, you know Harry's not coming back tonight. At least, not alone.

The door slams as you think this, and you pretend that you're engaged with the crappy movie you're "watching". You try to ignore the giggles and cutesy noises they're making.

...but they aren't making any. As you turn to face them, you realize they're not a them, they're a Harry. A single, lone Harry.

"I dumped her," he says quietly, meeting your eyes.

"Oh," is all you can say. What else is there to say? You don't care.

"She was fucking perfect... and I dumped her."

He stares at you, as if the answers to why the hell he'd let someone as amazing as Wave go, but you offer nothing. You simply stare back, trying to figure out why the fuck he's telling you this.

"Yeah, well, I've always said you were an idiot."

He laughs, but you fail in distracting him. "It's just... it was Wave, you know?"

"I'm familiar with the name," you say dryly.

"She was just--is just--beautiful, and smart, and funny--"

He's still watching you for something. What the fuck does he want? Whatever it is, you don't have it, that's for sure.

"--and... amazing! And when we fuc--"

"Ok!" you say loudly. "Hearing about your sex life is not on my list of priorities!" Unless, of course, his sex life is with you.

...oh, fuck no, you did not just think that.

But for some reason, your words make him look triumphant. Like your proclamation that not wanting to hear about his sex life... meant something to him.

Can't a girl not want to hear about a guy friend's sex life and have it not mean anything?

"Sorry," he says, smiles apologetically, though you're pretty damn sure that he's not. "I just can't fucking figure out why... why the hell I let her go. God, I'm an idiot."

You nod. "Like I said."

"Maybe this was a bad idea," he mutters, looking at you. "Maybe I shouldn't have dumped her."

Inside, your stomach turns, but externally, you smile. "Whatever you feel's right."

Still looking. Searching inside you. What the fuck does he expect from you?

"I think... I should get back together with her."

"Good for you. Go ahead and call her. Have a fucking perfect time and have millions of fucking perfect kids and by a huge fucking SUV that you can run over me. Repeatedly," you say.

Ok. That might have come out a bit more harsh and jealous than you meant to.

"Or whatever," you add quickly, "It's not like I care."

But his eyes light up. "What do you think? Do you think I should get back together with her?"

"No," you say instantly, and cringe. "No... I don't think that the decision should lay in my hands. Your life, your girlfriend--or not, whatever--, your choice, you know?"

And he's smiling. He's fucking smiling, like he has this inside joke that you don't fucking understand, and he's never going to explain it to you, because it's just way more fun for him to fucking torture you and keep his fucking inside joke all to himself. Well fuck that.

"What?!" you shout. "Why the hell are you smiling like that?!"

"No reason," he says, still grinning.

God, he's annoying. Why the fuck do you have a crush on him, again?

...oh, right. You don't. You don't care. It doesn't matter to you. Let him have his fucking inside joke, because you do NOT care about it, or him, at all.

"Want to know why I broke up with her, Case?" he asks.

"Thought we already decided it was 'cause you're a fucking idiot," you retort, angry that he's... well, making you angry.

"Well yeah, that. And...," he takes a deep breath, "I... I think I might be in love with someone else."

It's a split second.

Not even that. Like, a millisecond. If there is such a thing. And if not, there is now.

And in that small, tiny, split millisecond... your face lights up. It instantly drops to your calm, apathetic face.

But somehow, in that small, tiny, split millisecond... Harry sees it, and he grins.


"No, no, fuck no. Whatever you thought you saw, you didn't, all right, Harry? Because it doesn't matter that you're in love with someone else, I'm completely and totally not going to go there, and I don't. Fucking. C--"

But he presses his lips to yours, cutting your string of denial off. His lips taste of strawberry, and a hint of vanilla, and you idly wonder if he had some sort of strawberry-vanilla thing for dessert, or if his lips always taste like that. You feel his tongue press against your lips, and you open them, allowing complete access to your mouth. You hear a moan, and wonder for a moment which one of you let it out, but ultimately decide that it doesn't matter.

And suddenly you realize that you're enjoying this kiss way too much for someone who just wants to be friends.

You break away from him suddenly, frowning. "No, Harry, I... we’re friends!"

His grin is gone, and he nods solemnly, understanding. "Sorry."

But then he kisses you, again, and you kiss him back.

You stop the kiss quicker than before, and shake your head. "No, no, Harry... I... I'm your friend, damnit."

"Of course you are," he says, before attacking your lips again.

"No, Harry!" you shout, frustrated. "I'm not--"

"Casey, tell me this," he says, impatiently. "How would Hermione react if I kissed her?"

What the fuck does this have to do with anything? "She'd... probably push you away and wipe her lips."

"And Ginny?"

"The same."

"And Parvati?"

"The same! What does this have to do with me, though?"

"Why would they do that?"

"Because they're your friends, you idiot!" you yell, annoyed.

"And did you push me away and wipe your lips?"


"And why is that?"


Your eyes widen in fear.

Oh fuck.

You... no.

You can't be.

Casey Daniels…..in love?

Harry has a smug, satisfied grin on his face, and you feel like smacking it off his face. Or kissing it off.

You pout. "I don't like you."

He laughs. "Too bad, 'cause I really like you."

Your pout turns into a small, shy smile.

Damn him and his charming, adorable, seductive ways.

"Casey, if you're not comfortable with this, that's fine, but--"

"No, no. Harry...," you sigh, allowing your denial bubble to deflate, "I... I think I just might like someone else too. And... I just might like you, and think you're hot, and want to jump your bones right about now. I... care."

He grins at you and wraps his arms around your thin waist. "Glad to hear it." He pulls away a little and presses his lips against yours. Mm. Strawberry-vanilla. You've always loved strawyberry-vanilla.

Ok. So maybe... maybe you do care, and... maybe you two aren’t just friends. And maybe you do think Harry's fucking hot, and maybe you really are enjoying these kisses.

At least you won't be sitting around waiting for him in the dark anymore. So what if you're not just friends? Fuck anyone who gives you shit about it. They can bitch and complain about it all you want.

After all, it's not like you care.


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