A/N: I've become the worst replier to of messages the world has ever seen. Sorry.

I was having reservations about publishing this but then on the way home from work I saw half a slug next to car that's number plate ended in RHR and if that isn't a sign then I don't know what is.

This was a plot bunny given to me by LKP, on their review for Footprints. You wanted a Hermione POV of that story. You got a Hermione POV for that story. But at what cost? AT WHAT COST?

So here is 'Red' or 'What exactly has Hermione got against light bulbs anyway?'

Disclaimer: J.K Rowling owns Harry Potter and but on my birthday she lets me hold him for ten whole seconds.

Lyrics at the beginning and end by Brand New, from 'The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot.'

Spring keeps you ever close

You are second hand smoke

You are so fragile and thin

Stand on trial for your sins

Holding onto yourself the best you can

Red had always been the colour she had associated with him. Not because of his hair surprisingly, as that could only be described as orange, but everything else… everything else about him was red.

He made her see it. Made her cheeks burn it. Caused it to run faster through her veins than was surely possible.

A warning. Stop. Danger. Heat.

That first day on the train. He wanted to be in the red house and so did she. She should have heeded that warning at the first sign. As soon as he had called her annoying, she should have turned around and walked away. By 'nightmare', she shouldn't have even been in earshot. But instead she stayed, forever edging closer to something that she knew was going to hurt her. How could she still be so surprised, after all these years, when the inevitable happened?

She was like a moth to a candle. Well, she reasoned, not really. At least moths got to reach the flame, touch it, feel the pain. Besides, candles were far too poetic to be associated with the two of them, always dancing but never together. Always at different times. Always to different songs. No, this was harder, unreachable. She was like a moth to a light bulb. No matter how hard she threw herself at her target, she would never be able to reach the light she so craved. Of course, she would be bruised and scolded but she would never be truly burned like she so masochistically craved.

According to teachers, friends and family, she was meant to be more intelligent than the moths though. She was meant to learn her lesson and steer clear but she couldn't and it scared her more than anything. The way he could lift her to the highest height, drop her and the thrill of falling, mixed with the complete loss of control was everything she wanted to avoid but now she wanted it. He was a wet paint sign, a button she had been told not to press; even if she wanted to bolt, morbid curiosity would push her into action.

It wasn't even the unknown that she drifted into. She always knew what would happen and did it anyway.

With him she was everything she hated – needy, dependant and volatile – and somehow the best version of herself. Without him… well, there was no without him. He was always with her in some capacity, whether a treasure in her heart or a chip on her shoulder depended on the day, the hour, the moment.

When he slept, he always had the most peaceful expression on his face. When that thing had first entered their lives, this had remained the same and she was relieved. No matter what he said or did in the day, at least at night she could watch him turn slowly back into the boy she was helplessly in love with. By the end, it had even taken this from her. She was well aware of what it did to their dreams; her own had become realistic to the point that she wasn't sure if she was awake anymore.

Near what she always referred to as The End - the end of them, the end of her loving him - his scowl and resentment were still there and she no longer recognised him. This wasn't the boy who she watched breathe slowly, in and out, all those nights; this was a man she had never met and didn't want to know. Sometimes she caught glimpses of her friend (a term that redefined understatement) underneath but then, one day, he wasn't there.

That was when she had started taking the locket from him while he slept. She thought that at least if he could sleep, then he would come back. If he could sleep without the dreams, the devil whispering in his ear when he was at his weakest, then he could cling to everything that made him him.

But she was too late. Those nights she had lay awake, too scared of her dreams to face them, she watched and begged him to return but he was already too far gone. He no longer needed the locket to become his own worst enemy.

By the end of the week, he had left the horcrux and she had chosen him and the rain had taken her final screams.

The irony of her only being able to reveal her deepest secret the same moment that she no longer wanted to mean it was not lost on her.

At least he hadn't heard her broken "I love you".

At least he hadn't been there to see that her words were not nearly as broken as she had become.

At least she didn't mean them anymore.

Because she didn't. Not one bit. Not at all.

On her third denial, she fell back into consciousness, startled by the pressure she felt on her shoulder.

And then he was there, staring at her with such concern that it couldn't be a dream. This was how he used to look at her before everything. What if it had been a dream, one of the nightmares that she was never completely sure was reality or not?

And then his name formed in her throat without the venom she had become accustomed to. It melted out of her lips, tasting like the sweetest thing she could imagine and watched the letters float through the air to his ears where they belonged and she wanted to kiss him. She wanted to hear him say her name in the same tone, moan it if she could make him, so she too could experience what it felt like.

To have love, trust and devotion poured into every syllable. The promise of so much more than the lives they were currently living, the lies they were telling themselves and everyone else.

And then the smell hit her, the damp of the tent, the heady scent of morning, the desperation clinging to his pyjamas… This was no dream. The nightmare had been real and she was living it.

The single word that had left her, evaporated, leaving them with nothing but each other's gaze, a thousand unsaid words, a hundred broken promises and a single desire to simultaneously cling to one another and to run away.

But she wasn't a part of that circle anymore; she had removed herself. The moment she realised what was happening, she took another step back. She didn't love him, not anymore. He wasn't allowed to pull her out of her sleep. He wasn't allowed to bring her the comfort she needed. He wasn't her rock, her blanket or her pillar anymore.

She stood on her own two feet and they pointed away from him at all times.

Before she had gathered the words to tell him to leave, he was already walking back to his bed, looking more defeated than she had ever seen him.

Maybe she wasn't the one who needed a rock, a blanket and pillar anymore. Maybe he needed hope, a reason to breath and a place to sleep and she was all of the above.

Or maybe, just like before, it was all in her head, planted there by the locket and nurtured by her own wishful thinking.

All she knew was that she didn't know. All she wanted was what she told herself she didn't. All she needed was in the bed next to hers and she planned to keep in that way.

She closed her eyes on the tears she could feel burning and all she could see was a blinding, all-consuming shade of red and it didn't matter how many times she told herself it meant nothing - because it would always mean something - and right now, it meant everything.

You are the smell before rain

You are the blood in my vein

Call me a safe bet, I'm betting I'm not

I'm glad that you can forgive,

Only hoping as time goes,

You can forget.

Thanks for reading :)