The feather bed was warm and comfortable, and Draco was exhausted, but he found that couldn't sleep at all. He tossed and turned, but all he could think of was Aries' exhausted face, and the cry of pain he had let out after several minutes of holding the Stone.
After breakfast the next morning, he took Aries into the drawing room alone and confronted him.
'I've been thinking about last night,' he began. 'I don't like the effect the Stone has on you.'
'What do you mean?' Aries asked coolly.
'You said it makes you feel tired, and I saw how much pain it caused you,' Draco said firmly. 'It makes you too weak to use magic, and it even makes it harder for you to use Parseltongue. It can't be good for you.'
'You don't understand, Draco,' Aries said wearily. 'When I look into the Stone, everything becomes clear. It's like seeing the daylight for the first time. How can I possibly give that up?'
Draco chewed his lower lip. 'I've heard how withdrawn you've been these several weeks,' he said. 'I've seen it myself.'
'I'm still dealing with Uncle Marius's death,' his cousin retorted defensively.
'I know,' Draco said. 'But I think it's more than that. You brighten up whenever you're talking about the Stone. For just a moment last night, I caught a glimpse of the cousin I know so well. But you don't care about anything else. That can't be healthy.' He paused. 'There's more,' he whispered. 'What colour are your eyes?'
'Blue,' Aries replied automatically. 'You know that.'
'They are now,' Draco agreed. 'And they are most of the time. But last night, after you gazed into the Stone, they turned bright green.'
Aries went pale. 'R-really?' he stammered in a high, nervous voice. 'That's odd.' He sat down in a high-backed armchair, looking utterly terrified. 'What's going on, Draco?'
'I don't know, Aries,' Draco said. 'The Stone is a very powerful magical object, and you are only eleven. Maybe you should leave it alone for a few years. We've made enough Elixir to take care of any emergencies.'
'I don't want to give up the Stone,' Aries replied. 'It's the most amazing thing I've ever seen.'
'I'm not asking you to give it up,' Draco said, placing a hand on his cousin's shoulder. 'Just take some time away from it. It will still be there when you're a bit older.'
Aries sighed. 'Maybe you're right,' he said. 'It does make me feel awfully tired.'
'I'm sure that when you're older you'll be able to deal with it better,' Draco said kindly.
Aries took a deep breath. 'All right, then. I'll have Mopsy put it into the laboratory for the time being. I'll tell her not to fetch it for anyone except us.'
The boy was as good as his word, but the results were not pleasant for anyone. He went from only caring about the Stone to not caring about anything, and he spent the remainder of the holiday in a terrible mood. Draco tried to interest Aries with tales of what was going on at Hogwarts and how the Quidditch team were doing, but Aries grew sullen, and paid him little mind.
To make matters worse, he was sleeping poorly, so he became irritable and snappish, not only with Draco, but also with the other members of the family, and even with Mopsy, whom he had always adored. Everyone noticed, but no one except Draco knew the cause. Aries would glare at Draco accusingly whenever anyone mentioned the disturbing change in his behaviour, but Draco was adamant that his cousin keep his word.
Aries' reaction to separation from the Stone only served to confirm Draco's opinion that the Stone was dangerous, and that Aries ought never to have been exposed to it at so young an age. Draco was beginning to wish devoutly that they had never stolen the dratted thing.
On the last day before he returned to Hogwarts, Draco gave Aries the diary.
'I think this might help you to feel better,' he said. 'It will give you the chance to vent as much as you like, and the diary's even enchanted to respond to you, so you'll feel like you're talking to a real person.'
Aries smirked. 'Only without making life miserable for everyone around me.'
'That's the general idea,' Draco replied with a grin.
'I'm sorry, Draco,' his cousin said glumly. 'I've been a terrible host.'Draco rolled his eyes. 'You nearly died a couple of months ago, Aries. I think I can overlook it. Just try to get better, all right?'
Aries smiled at him. 'I'll do my best.'
'And promise me you'll try the diary,' Draco went on. 'I really think it might help.'
'I promise,' Aries replied. 'Thanks for the get-well present.'
Draco laughed. 'Don't mention it.'
The next day, after Narcissa came by to collect Draco, Harry went upstairs to his bedroom and took out the diary. Having spent the better part of the last two months handling the most powerful magical object believed to exist, Harry knew instantly that what he held in his hands was no ordinary enchanted journal. It was a powerful magical object in its own right, and somehow, Harry got the sense that it contained something even more precious than the Philosopher's Stone.
He ran his fingers along the spine, and felt a sharp pain in his forehead. The pain was excruciating, but Harry found it relatively easy to ignore, because he simultaneously felt a strange sense of exultation. The part of his mind that he used to speak Parseltongue, which had been strangely quiet over the past several weeks, had suddenly reasserted itself with a vengeance, and Harry felt alive and strong again. In some ways, this new feeling was similar to that of contemplating the Stone: Harry experienced an exhilarating clarity and sense of purpose. He smiled as it washed over him.
He found that he had missed it desperately.
At the same time, Harry could sense that there were major differences between the diary and the Stone. Gazing upon the Stone had always been accompanied by a sense of quiet sorrow, like the song of a phoenix in all the old stories, and Harry had always felt strangely small afterwards, as a small child might feel all alone in the middle of an enormous desert, with the infinite blackness of the starry firmament stretching overhead.
This new feeling was far more...pleasant. As he held the diary, Harry felt large and powerful, as though all the stars in the sky were nothing compared to him and his destiny. And whereas the Stone had all too often made Harry feel like a dirty little boy sticking his nose where it didn't belong, the diary felt as though it belonged with him. There was a kinship between them; they were alike in some fundamental way that Harry did not yet understand, but which he fully intended to explore.
He opened the diary and took out his quill.
This diary, and all its secrets, he wrote in his neat, elegant hand, are now the property of Aries Sirius Black, the true Heir of Slytherin.
His words vanished, and new words appeared in a different hand.
Hello, Aries Sirius Black. I am Tom Marvolo Riddle.
.....
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