AUTHOR ALERT ME FOR THE BEGINNING OF THE NEXT STORY! Yes, this is unfortunately the last chapter of Assimilation. The next will be called Walking. Please enjoy this final chapter. I hope to see you in the next story. =]

I don't own RK or HP.

Chapter Fourteen

Harry walked through the hallways of Hogwarts, not wanting to go back to the common room after Dumbledore's speech. Tomorrow he'd have to return to the Dursleys, the few weeks of torture until he could go the Weasleys again. This year…this school…He ran his fingers hand along the wall as he walked, glad that he wasn't running into anymore people. The stone wall, it felt so familiar. The stones of Hogwarts could never change, just the people inside of it. Just him.

What would next year be like?

It was a thought he dreaded. How could he return after everything? How was it that within the course of a few hours, his life had turned itself inside out? How was it that in a single second, with a single word, a boy as brilliant as Cedric Diggory could fall? How could a life be that easy to end? How was it that life was so fragile? Cedric was seventeen...How was it that someone could kill just a teenager?

"Thank you, Professor," a tired voice said. He looked up from the ground to see Kenshin standing there, talking to McGonagall. In his hand were plan tickets. He'd be going back to Japan, Harry realized, until the end of August. In Japan he'd receive stares and people on the streets would draw away from him, separating him from society. Would that be what his life would turn into, a world where people dodged him as he walked down the halls of the only place he called home? "I really appreciate it."

"Your welcome, Himura," she said, looking down at him from her place in the doorway of her classroom. "Just remember that your flight is at ten, so take a taxi immediately to the airport. You'll only have an hour to spare. Now go get some sleep; you look like you're about to drop where you stand."

"Goodnight, Professor."

"Goodnight." She walked back into her room, letting the door shut behind her. Kenshin walk away.

"H-hey!" Harry called, running to catch up to him, having some unexplainable need to talk to him. The other boy stopped. "Are you heading back to the common room?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty tired," he said, tucking the tickets in his pocket. "And I should get some sleep incase I'm one of those people who can't sleep on planes. It's a seven hour flight."

"Sounds boring."

"It will be."

They fell into step with each other, both quiet. On one of the floors above, a girl laughed, the sound floating down to them.

"How did you cope?" he said finally, turning to look at his friend.

"With what?" Kenshin asked as they slipped past a tapestry, a shortcut up to the common room.

"Killing people," he said. "How did you deal with it?"

There was a pause. "By washing my hands. Sometimes I washed my hands until they bled. I kept on scrubbing, like I thought it would make the world disappear. I could block everything out. It wasn't until I finally felt the pain, though, that I would remember I couldn't wash my hands forever, that I couldn't make the world disappear. So I just accepted it and kept on killing until I ended up the way I am today. I hated the pain. That's something that will never change." He held up his hands and Harry could see the scars. They were light, barely noticeable, but still there.

"I feel so stupid."

"Why?"

"I told him…Cedric offered to let me take the cup, so that I could win, but I told him no. I was the one who said we should both take it at the same time and he listened. I'm such an idiot. I'm the reason he died."

"Stop walking," said Kenshin and Harry paused mid-step, turning around the face the other boy. Shadows of sleepiness had gathered under his eyes. Maybe this hadn't been the time to talk. "Listen, Harry, and don't become like me. It's…it's not good if you forget how to smile or laugh. There was this man I had to kill once…a politician like all the others. I had to hid behind a wall until he and his two bodyguards were close enough. One of his bodyguards was getting married and said he felt bad to feel so much happiness in a time when so many were suffering.

"But the politician answered, 'In this world, everyone's trying to find a little happiness.' That's rough translation. A world can't work if everyone is miserable, I learned that from experience. It was the day before my eleventh birthday I heard that.

"In my first sixth months on the job, back when I was ten, I killed over six hundred. By the time I left last May, I'd already killed around seven thousand. That's when I lost track. It wasn't until September, though, when I met you and Ron and Hermione, that I laughed for the first time since February three years ago.

"I'm not really good at this stuff, but what I'm trying to say is that death shouldn't stop the ones left from living. Everyone needs something to live for, even if it's just something as simple as one person asking you to keep going. If a murderer can try for a little happiness, then so can you. Just remember that you weren't the one who cast the spell…and that he died painlessly. Magic is kind when it comes to killing. Don't keep Ron and Hermione at arm's length. The last thing we need is for you to die too."

"It's really hard for you, isn't it?" They resumed walking. "I feel so selfish now, for thinking like I'm the only person who's ever had to deal with this."

Kenshin shrugged. "It gets easier, you'll realize that too, soon enough. Just remember how to laugh and everything will get better."

"Thanks," Harry said, feeling better. Hearing it from someone with a worse situation than he had say it was like a relief—the good kind of change was possible. That's all he needed to know. "I…"

"Don't mention it," said Kenshin with a laugh. "I never thought I'd be giving advice on how to be happy to someone. I'm such a miserable person."

"What was it that made you happy again anyway?"

"You guys. You, Ron, and Hermione. Even when you found out, you weren't afraid to look me in the eye. That's what did it."

Suddenly Harry remembered something very small and insignificant, something he'd been meaning to ask the other boy for weeks. "Do you like Hermione?" he blurted out. Kenshin looked at him in surprise.

"W-what?" His cheeks went red. "I-is it that obvious?"

Harry, just as suggested, started laughed. And it wasn't a forced laugh either. It was almost like the other boy's advice caused an immediate change.

"It's not funny!"

"No, no, sorry," Harry said once he calmed down. "And don't worry, I don't think anyone else has noticed."

"Then how did you notice?"

"No idea, it's just that when you're meeting someone for the first time, she's the person you automatically stand next to and if she hugs you, you don't tell her to get off."

"Well, um, yeah, I sort of do, I guess. I don't know. I suppose. I've never, well, you know, liked someone before and I can't believe I'm having this discussion with you."

"Yeah, it's a little strange, I'll admit. I wouldn't mind, though, you know, if you dated her."

"Wait, what? Where is this coming from?"

"I'm just saying in advance that if you date her it'd be okay because I don't think the four of us would act any differently."

"But it doesn't matter, does it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Hermione has a boyfriend."

"So? He's leaving tomorrow and she isn't going to Bulgaria because she's going to the Weasleys instead. They've broken up."

"Seriously?"

"She said they agreed that a long distance relationship wouldn't have worked. So you have a chance."

"I think I'll wait a little while…"

"Come on, let's go back."

"O-okay, Harry."

Maybe…maybe it wouldn't be so hard after all.

---------

The weather was gorgeous the next morning, the sky a dome of blue, lacking any of its usual artwork of clouds. The four had somehow managed to find a compartment to themselves and were making the most it, taking up as much room as possible. Kenshin was lying down on one side, head about six inches away from Hermione's lap (which made him blush). Ron and Harry were sitting on the other side.

"So what do you think Dumbledore's going to do now that You-Know-Who back to power?" Ron asked as the train left Hogsmeade Station.

"Probably gather a group of people who still believe him," said Kenshin, staring up at the ceiling. "But since the Ministry controls the Profit, I wonder how many of those will be left."

"A lot, I bet," said Harry. "Dumbledore has many people who trust him."

"With him on our side," said Hermione. "Everything will be fine. I'm sure of it."

"Everything will be fine," repeated Harry. Ron laughed.

Kenshin shut his eyes, not wanting to mention that before the media found a way to paint him as a common, everyday cutthroat, he was considered a hero, deliverer of Tenchuu. Not that he liked it, but the general message was still the same—words that could be heard or read were just as strong as any act. If someone was willing to believe, it was possible to believe anything. And no one wanted to believe that Voldemort had come back to power. Many would refuse to, like Fudge. They lived in a world of fools.

They talked for a while after that, about what measures Dumbledore would take now that the Ministry would out of the question when it came to helping. They stopped, though, when the lunch trolley came by, piling up on food. Kenshin barely touched it. In twenty-four hours he'd be able to eat actual food…good Japanese food after an entire year. If he had sushi, maybe he'd be able to eat up to three rolls for once. He really needed to start eating more—then maybe he'd grow. It would help if he was ever hungry, of course.

When they were finished, Hermione extracted a copy of the Daily Profit and a paperfrom her bag. Kenshin looked at the newspaper, wary of its contents. Harry and Ron were giving it the same looked. After a moment of casually looking it over, Hermione calmly said, "There's nothing in there. You can look for yourself, but there's nothing at all. I've been checking every day. Just a small piece the day after the third task saying you won the tournament. They didn't even mention Cedric. Nothing about any of it. If you ask me, Fudge is forcing them to keep quiet."

"He'll never keep Rita quiet," said Harry. "Not on a story like this."

"Oh, Rita hasn't written anything at all since the third task," said Hermione. Kenshin tilted his head to look at her. "As a matter of fact, Rita Skeeter isn't going to be writing anything at all for a while. Not unless she wants me to spill the beans on her."

"What are you talking about?" said Ron.

"I found out how she was listening in on private conversations when she wasn't supposed to be on the grounds."

"You've been dying to tell us this, haven't you?" said Kenshin with a small smile. She hit him lightly on the forehead, causing that small smile to grow a bit. "Fine, fine, go on."

"How was she doing it?" said Harry before she could continue.

"How did you find out?" said Ron.

"Well, it was you, really, who gave me the idea, Harry."

"Did I? How?"

"Bugging," she said happily.

"But you said they didn't work—"

Still smiling in triumph, Hermione said, "Oh, not electronic bugs. No, you see…Rita Skeeter is an unregistered Animagus. She can turn—" She extracted a third item from her bag, a glass jar—"into a beetle."

"You're kidding," said Ron. Kenshin stared. It was so…so…un-Rita Skeeter. "You haven't…she's not…:

"Oh yes she is." Inside the jar was a small, makeshift beetle habitat.

"That's never—you're kidding—"

"No, I'm not," said Hermione. "I caught her on the windowsill in the hospital wing. Look very closely, and you'll notice the markings around her antennae are exactly like those foul glasses she wears."

"There was a beetle on the statue the night we heard Hagrid telling Madame Maxime about his mum!" said Harry, inspecting the contents inside the glass.

"Exactly," said Hermione. "And Viktor pulled a beetle out of my hair after we'd had out conversation by the lake. And unless I'm very much mistaken, Rita was perched on the windowsill of the Divination class the day your scar hurt. She's been buzzing around for stories all year."

Something was nagging at Kenshin and he couldn't figure out what it was for the life of him. He shut his eyes again and lifted up his arm to put it across them to block out the light completely. Goddamn it…what was it that he was forgetting? This was really frustrating…

"Very clever, Granger," said Draco Malfoy's voice. Kenshin's eyes snapped open and he moved his arm, turning to see the Slytherin and his two cronies standing in the doorway of the compartment. "So, you caught some pathetic reporter, and Potter's Dumbledore's favorite boy again. Big deal." Harry sent them a dirty look. "Trying not to think about it, are we? Trying to pretend it hasn't happened?"

"Get out of here, Malfoy," said Kenshin softly, only moving to go back to his earlier position, eyes shut, arm over face. He couldn't stand to see them anymore. He could feel Fred and George coming down the hallway. "You aren't welcome."

"And what're you going to do about it?" Malfoy said, arrogance dripping from every word. "You're just some pathetic fourteen-year-old—" Fifteen as of tomorrow. "—who can't do anything. I can't believe I was ever scared of you."

Kenshin laughed quietly, wondering how anyone could be so stupid.

"Stop," Hermione snapped and with a feeling of dread, he somehow knew that she was aware of something he wasn't. "Get out or—"

"Or what, Granger? Protecting your boyfriend? How sweet." Breathing became hard as he remembered what had been nagging him—there was a beetle that day the four of them were in the forest. "I know things about him that you couldn't believe. You see, Rita Skeeter was good at gathering information—she even sifted through Muggle news once she found out who he was." Oh no, oh no, oh no. "It was easy enough once she found the name he was originally under in the Ministry. Did you know that he was supposed to be put through—"

In a moment he was in front of the boy. Malfoy jumped and looked down. Kenshin only went up to the Slytherin's shoulder, even shorter compared to Crabbe and Goyle. Both of them looked very confused. "Don't think me harmless, Malfoy," he said quietly, golden eyes staring up at him, blank, unfeeling. The taller boy's face went paler than it already was, if possible. It took all Kenshin's willpower not to reach for the sword sheathed at his waist. "You don't need to kill to make a person regret saying something. It doesn't help that you have no idea what you're talking about." His voice was so quiet he doubted his friends could hear it. He laughed softly. "You don't need to kill someone to make them bleed. Let this be your warning. Make sure to tell your friends, too." Perfect terror was painted across Malfoy's face. Even so, he managed to compose himself.

"So this is what the angelic Gryffindor house is made of?" he said. "A group of Mudbloods, cowards pretending to be brave, blood traitors, false heroes, and murderers. A whole bunch of losers pretending to be good, all waiting to be killed. Hm, maybe even Diggory should've been a Gryffindor. He's already de—"

Something akin in an explosion went off in the compartment. Once the bright lights of all the spells faded, the heavily hexed bodies of Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle lay unconscious on the floor. The twins were also there, wands out. A moment after that, Kenshin's head was struck by the worst bout of pain he'd felt in a while. Holding back a scream, he managed to stumble backwards and sit down. It hurt so badly. After trying to open his eyes, he assessed that it was as bad as the migraines he used to get—he couldn't see, couldn't breathe. An arm went around his shoulders. For one wild second, he thought it was Tomoe, before, through his painful haze, he remembered that she was dead and this was Hermione. A conversation was going on around him, but it was only a buzz in his ears.

After a while, the pain faded completely. It turned out to only have been fifteen minutes or so. His shoulders were shaking and he was honestly surprised that he hadn't started crying. Not that he was complaining—he hated crying. Hermione's arm was still wrapped around him. He coughed.

"Do you feel better?" she asked. He looked up, still somewhat dazed, and nodded. "What happened?" The rest of the boys in the compartment looked over.

"I-I have no idea," he answered and it half true this time. It made no sense that it would hurt that badly. Maybe he already had a natural headache forming. Hesitating, he asked the twins, "How much of that did you hear?"

"All of it, mate," said Fred. Harry looked at him guiltily.

"Since they heard so much, we had to tell them," he said. "I hope you're not mad…"

"As long as they don't tell anyone, I don't care," he answered, rubbing his temples. Thank god it was gone. "You won't, right guys?" The twins shook their heads.

"Um, you're probably wondering how Malfoy knew that," said Hermione in a small voice. He looked over to find the other piece of paper she was holding shoved in his face. On closer inspection, he realized it was a detailed list of information about him, but nothing about what happened to him in the incident Malfoy was about to describe. "I…When I caught her, I found this, too, next to her. She must have been holding it before she turned into the beetle. I don't know how she found out in the first place, but…"

"She was there," he said, staring at the list. Most of it wasn't even accurate, just information the media had spewed out about him. "When the four of us were in the forbidden forest. I whacked her out of the way. If I'd know, I would've stepped on her."

Ron snatched the paper from his hand. Harry looked over his shoulder to read it. Only a second or so later, the twins took it from them. Kenshin found himself unable to care. They were friends, it didn't matter.

"Is any of this true?" asked George, staring down at it.

"Most of it isn't. The name of my commander and my style are right…The name my hometown is right, my description, the rumor that I always wore a light blue scarf after a while, though the majority of that is just that—rumors. No one ever had a perfectly clear description of my face. All of that is leaked information from a traitor in our unit."

"Don't you still wear that scarf?" said Ron, looking up at his trunk where it sat above the seats. "I know you did to Hogsmeade."

"I've had it for the past three—now four, I suppose—years. It actually belonged to a girl, but luckily you can't tell that. What's the word you guys use?"

"Androgynous."

"Thanks."

"Um, Kenshin," Hermione said tentatively after a short silence, "what was Malfoy about to say?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

It was always his response, he supposed, but he wasn't ready to talk about all of it, all that happened. Maybe one day soon he'd be ready to do it. Just how soon was soon? He'd been jumping around answering, leaping past explanations. But how long could he kept that up? What would happened when he ran out of leaps?

He would learn to walk.