Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

A/N: Soo. This will be a dark Harry rises type story – hopefully it will be a bit different than others. First chapter is a bit mopey, I guess, but the divergence needs to start somewhere. Enjoy!

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Turned to Stone

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Harry nervously folded and unfolded the letter as he fidgeted in one of the seats on board the knight bus. His body moved this way and that swaying with the not so gentle twists and turns. The driver avoided cars in such a haphazard manner that if Harry had a weaker stomach, he would have vomited twenty minutes ago.

Gruff and worn down looking, the driver had grunted at him when Harry had climbed aboard. The black haired wizard had been a bit stunned that the operator had not been Ernie – but a sarcastic little voice in the back of his head bitingly asked if Ernie was on call twenty-four seven.

Harry gripped his seat when they took a particularly rough turn – he would have sworn they were going back in the same direction if it weren't for the increase in traffic. The driver must have piloted roller coasters in another life, for he was certainly no average bus operator.

The ride to Diagon Alley and back to Privet Drive were the only things he had to look forward to on this trip. The rest was business, then back to the home he loathed with each passing year.

Harry was wary of meeting the goblins of Gringotts alone, but they gave him an offer he could not refuse.

To not show up at this meeting meant that he would lose access to the Black Vault forever and Harry had a sneaking suspicion that the next in line to inherit would be a Malfoy. He should have told Dumbledore – yes, but he was still angry over their last conversation a month ago. Harry's face grew warm and his hands shook slightly in rage. He held on to that anger as hard as possible he didn't want to fall into the pit of depression and apathy he knew that lay underneath.

He had gotten a couple of extra smacks this summer for mouthing off, but – he savored it. Not the pain in his cheek where Petunia had slapped him; but the fear glistening in her eyes. His was as big as her now. And a beast much different than a sad little boy wanting to be rescued.

Besides, why should he tell anyone one when it was so easy slipping past his meager guard, especially one that was rarely on time?

Mundungus Fletcher had not shown up to his post again this evening. Harry thanked his lucky stars that Mundungus could always be expected to act like the sleazy little thief he was. He was always twenty minutes late, but even when Mundungus was around, he was hardly the image of an upstanding Order member.

Earlier this evening before he had been about to leave, Harry had peaked out the window and looked toward a tree that was Dung's typical hiding spot. The squat filthy wizard always smoked when he watched Harry; he made no attempt to conceal himself as other Order Members often did.

Oddly enough, no muggle seemed to care that the tree often dispersed clouds of green cigar smoke regularly on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays in the evenings as the sun fell beneath the horizon, just as it was getting too dark to see without a light. It was ten minutes to sundown when Harry walked out of he house and down the road before he summoned the knight bus.

He sighed. Harry unfolded the letter completely, smoothing out the creases and running a finger over the raised gold embellishment at the top of the parchment. Ridges and bumps in the metallic letter head formed an imposing 'G' across a smooth shield barring an axe and quill.

He didn't even bother to read it; Harry had it memorized. It was short and succinct.

If he did not make an appearance at Gringotts by the end of today, he would lose out on whatever the Blacks kept within their ancient he believed Dumbledore hadn't given him any information about the situation with Voldemort because the old man didn't have any; he would appear less omniscient and less like a grand leader if even he was taken in by smoke and mirrors.

Harry figured he would do Dumbledore a favor and accept the contents of the Black Vault – not that he was doing it for the manipulative bastard, but Sirius was his Godfather. And Harry needed something – something that made him feel whole. He couldn't possibly describe how he felt with words.

So he would take possession of the Vault. And give whatever he found toward helping the Order. The old money of the Blacks would benefit the Order of the Phoenix.

Sirius would have liked that.

The paper folded up easily along the worn creases once more, Harry's fingers moved of their own volition. He felt guilty that Sirius had left him the Black Vaults; he was the reason Sirius was dead after all. Remus had disappeared in the aftermath of Sirius's aided fall through the veil. Even though it had ultimately been Harry's fault, his thoughts of Sirius were tainted by the bittersweet memory of the lanky man's last words. A taunt that had come back and bit him in the arse. Sirius was a schoolboy that never grew up. And Harry hadn't seen Remus since.

But under all that, Harry couldn't deny a small glimmer of curiosity that coursed through him. He wanted to know what had been kept in Gringotts. The Blacks were an old family – maybe they had something that would help him win the fight against Voldemort.

After all, the prophecy pretty much said – No don't think about that now.

Harry grabbed on to the window ledge with one hand as the stout driver took a particularly tight turn that no normal triple-decker would have been able to make without flipping onto its side.

Hermione and Ron injured and abed in the hospital wing misunderstood his reasons for behaving like a depressed lack-wit in the last week before classes ended. Yes, he was extremely sad that Sirius died and sure he believed it was his fault, but he did not need to have it shoved down his throat that ' Oh, Harry! Bellatrix was the reason he died, not you!'

It was his fault.

And for the most part, he was over it already. He accepted his blame in the whole disastrous affair. The loss of Sirius opened his eyes to the fact that his friends were mortal. Seeing them in the hospital wing only punched that fact home harder.

Their eyes were full of excitement and a childish innocence that had been ripped from Harry during his shock in the aftermath of the Department of Mysteries battle. The Hogwarts Express arrived at platform nine and three quarters, and in that moment, he knew then that they didn't understand. Wouldn't understand until they placed so much hope into an idea– an impossible dream really, that having it ripped away left a gaping hole that could never be repaired. Sirius was a sacrifice to the greater scheme of things, a stepping stone on the path of the most righteous, virtuous ending. And he wouldn't allow it to happen to them.

Harry learned in Dumbledore's office, as his magic pounded instruments to servos and broken trinkets that winning this war against Voldemort would be gained upon the corpses of those who died for the side of the just – the well being of magic, to win. And many of them would be his friends. His family was already all gone now. Sacrifices would be made in the form of people rather than plastic figurines on this chessboard. A painful pound of his heart and, to the soul, he knew that in the upcoming skirmishes against Voldemort, physically and psychologically; he would lose people. And that was the worst part; while many who praise the names of the fallen, only he and others on the battle field would know their faces in life. And in death.

Sirius first– who next? Ron? Mr. Weasley? Remus? Hermione?

The list went on through his mind, spiraling and until names repeated until his mind's eye was filled with a wall of black ink; names scribbled on a future memorial of those he would lose. Convulsively his hand crushed the letter. It was little more than scrap parchment now.

He opened his hand and pocketed what was left. Seemed like this wouldn't be such a fun ride after all. Harry hated the fact that he felt empty, that he already anticipated the deaths of everyone he cared about. He didn't think he could live in a world without them–

Harry swatted his bangs from his eyes as he faced the window. In and out he breathed. His fingers shook until he clenched them into fists at his side. He was over thinking things. One step at a time. Harry zoned out to the movement of his chair up and down the aisle. If he focused on the world outside the window, everything seemed okay.

Everything would be fine.

TBC