Crystal Potential

Lily Potter sat on the living room floor, her back against James’s legs as she rocked Miruna gently in her arms. The soft glow of candlelight flickered across the walls, casting long, dancing shadows. Across the room, Harry sat on the carpet, babbling happily as he tried to stack his toy blocks. James, ever the doting father, leaned forward to help steady the growing tower.

“This one’s going to be a builder, Lils,” James chuckled, his hazel eyes glinting with warmth as he glanced at their son.

Lily smiled, pressing a kiss to Miruna’s soft curls. “Or a troublemaker like his father.”

James clutched his chest in mock offense. “I take full credit for that.”

Their life wasn’t perfect—there was still a war raging outside their doorstep, and the constant fear of being found gnawed at her mind—but in this moment, surrounded by the quiet sounds of her family, Lily felt whole. She would do anything to protect them. Anything.

⋘ ──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ──── ⋙

The cafe was small, tucked away in a quiet corner of Diagon Alley, away from the usual bustle. The Ministry had suggested this place—intimate, easy to control—perfect for the Potters' first public appearance since Voldemort’s fall. Harry sat between them in his high chair, big green eyes staring at the camera, oblivious to the way the reporter’s quill hovered over the parchment, ready to capture every word.

Lily’s practiced smile never wavered as the questions rolled in. She spoke about their gratitude, about moving forward, about how the world could finally breathe again. James added a joke here and there, easing the tension in the room. Everything was going smoothly.

And then the reporter asked, “And your daughter, Miruna? How has she adjusted?”

The words hit Lily like a curse. A cold, horrible realization crawled up her spine. They had forgotten to call Sirius. Miruna was still at home—alone.

She covered it with a breath of laughter, adjusting Harry’s bib as if the question had barely registered. “Oh, she’s just as happy as ever,” she answered smoothly, her voice perfectly even. “She’s young, but I think she senses that things are better now.” Then, without missing a beat, she turned the conversation back to Harry, to the Boy Who Lived, steering them away from dangerous waters.

By the time the interview ended, her heart was still hammering in her chest. She told herself it was an accident, just an honest mistake. But the gnawing guilt refused to fade.

⋘ ──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ──── ⋙

Lily sat by the fireplace, watching Harry trace glowing lines in the air with his toy wand. The sparks danced beautifully, the kind of controlled magic that was beyond his years. He was brilliant—powerful, destined for greatness.

On the other side of the room, Miruna sat on the floor, struggling to stack three simple blocks on top of each other.

Lily frowned, something twisting deep in her stomach.

“She’s holding him back.”

Dumbledore’s words echoed in her mind, soft but certain. He had visited earlier that afternoon, his voice ever so gentle as he explained things she hadn’t considered before. The importance of nurturing potential, of ensuring Harry’s gifts were cultivated properly. And, without saying it outright, the reality that Miruna would never rise to his level.

She wasn’t sure when it had started—this slow, creeping thought that Miruna was different. That she was slower. That she wasn’t like Harry.

Lily reached for her tea, forcing a smile as Miruna knocked her blocks over and let out a small, frustrated noise. “Try again, love,” she said kindly, knowing that it would just be a repeat performance.

James, across the room, remained silent.

Lily turned her attention back to Harry, her brilliant boy. Dumbledore was right. Harry was special. And some sacrifices—some adjustments—had to be made for the greater good.

⋘ ──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ──── ⋙

The decision was made in the dim candlelight of their bedroom, whispered between Lily and James like a secret neither of them wanted to acknowledge.

“She’ll be better off here though,” James said, rubbing a hand down his face. His voice wavered, but Lily wouldn’t take it back.

Lily sat on the edge of their bed, fingers digging into the fabric of her nightdress. “It’s for her own good. For Harry’s good.”

“She’ll hate us.”

“She’ll be safe.”

James exhaled, looking toward the small pile of Miruna’s things they hadn’t packed away yet—dresses she would outgrow before she ever wore them again, a battered stuffed kneazle she still clung to at night.

Lily closed her eyes, forcing herself not to think about it too much. They had to do this. Miruna was different. Slower. There was no telling what uncontrolled magic would do to her—or to Harry. It was better this way.

“We’ll still see her,” James muttered, more to himself than otherwise. “She won’t be alone.”

Lily nodded, not voicing the nagging doubt at the back of her mind.

⋘ ──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ──── ⋙

Lily smoothed out a crease in Harry’s dress robes, her hands lingering for a moment before pulling away. He looked perfect. His hair—though as messy as James’s—had been tamed just enough, and his green eyes sparkled under the soft studio lights. He gave her a bright grin, oblivious to the weight of the moment.

“This is a big day, sweetheart,” she murmured, crouching down to his level. “Just answer the questions like we practiced, okay?”

Harry nodded eagerly. “I will, Mum!”

James chuckled from the chair beside them, straightening his own robes. “He’s a natural. We’ll be in and out before you know it.”

Lily gave him a strained smile before glancing toward the producer setting up the cameras. This interview mattered. The public wanted to see their little hero, the boy who had survived the Dark Lord’s attack and emerged unscathed. The boy who, at only six years old, was already adored.

But then, just as she settled into her seat, a thought hit her like a punch to the stomach.

Miruna.

They had left her with Sirius and Remus. They hadn’t even thought to bring her.

Lily schooled her features, forcing the realization away. It didn’t matter. Miruna would have been in the way, sitting awkwardly beside Harry, too quiet, too different. She would have dragged the whole thing down, her presence distracting from what truly mattered.

And so, when the interviewer—an eager, smiling witch with a floating quill—asked, “And how is little Miruna? She must be just as happy as her brother, growing up in such a wonderful home,” Lily only hesitated for a fraction of a second.

“Oh, absolutely,” she said smoothly. “She’s a quiet one, our Miruna, but she’s doing just fine.” Then she smiled, tilting her head slightly to shift the focus back. “Now, shall we begin?”

As the cameras started rolling, she didn’t let herself think about the little girl sitting in Sirius and Remus’s house, alone.

⋘ ──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ──── ⋙

The tower was cold. It always was when they came to visit. The room was modest—barely furnished aside from a bed, a small desk, and a shelf of basic children’s books. The windows were high, allowing only thin streams of light to pour in. Miruna sat on the edge of her bed when they entered, her hands resting in her lap.

“Hello, darling,” Lily said brightly, trying not to notice how Miruna barely looked up.

“Hi, Mummy. Hi, Daddy,” she murmured softly.

James smiled warmly and stepped forward. “How’s your reading coming along?”

Miruna’s voice barely rose above a whisper. “It’s okay.”

An awkward silence fell. Lily hated the heaviness of it—the thick, unspoken truth hanging between them. This was the place Miruna belonged now. It was better this way. It had to be.

“You know,” Lily finally said, forcing brightness into her tone, “you could at least talk to us a bit more. You don’t have to be so quiet, sweetheart.”

Miruna swallowed hard. “I just—”

Lily exhaled, already feeling herself grow impatient. “If you don’t have anything to say, maybe we should just stop visiting. I don’t think it’s helping either of us very much.”

Miruna’s head snapped up, panic flashing in her eyes. “No! I—I’ll talk more, I promise!”

But Lily was already turning toward the door. “We’ll see. Honestly, I don’t know what else we can do here.”

James lingered a moment longer, his hand brushing against the doorframe. He glanced back at his daughter—small, pale, and desperate—before offering her a sad, apologetic smile. Lily didn’t notice as she strode ahead.

By the time Miruna found her voice again, they were already gone.

⋘ ──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ──── ⋙

Sirius leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed. His eyes were sharp, more serious than usual. “You know, she barely talks anymore.”

Lily’s hand faltered as she set a teacup down. “What?”

“Miruna.” Sirius watched her closely. “She hardly speaks. Last time she stayed with me, she was quiet the whole time. Didn’t cause trouble. Didn’t ask for much.”

Lily forced a polite smile. “That’s just how she is.”

“No, it’s not,” Sirius said, his voice edged with something unreadable. “She used to talk my ear off when she was little. Now? She barely looks people in the eye.”

Lily’s fingers curled slightly against the table. “She’s fine, Sirius.”

“Is she?”

Lily inhaled sharply. “She has everything she needs.”

Sirius scoffed. “Yeah. Except parents.”

Lily’s jaw tightened. “She’s not—” She caught herself, biting back the words before they spilled out.

Sirius narrowed his eyes. “She’s not what?”

Lily shook her head, lifting her cup.

⋘ ──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ──── ⋙

“Mum?” Harry’s voice piped up from the hallway, his brow furrowed. “Why doesn’t Runa ever want to play with me anymore?”

Lily hesitated, folding laundry in her bedroom. “What do you mean, sweetheart?”

“She never comes downstairs. Every time I ask, she just stays in her room. I asked if she wanted to play Gobstones and she didn’t even look at me.” Harry’s voice was tight, confused, like a child trying to understand something they weren’t meant to. “Did I do something wrong?”

Lily’s throat tightened. “Oh, no, darling. It’s not you. Miruna just… she likes being alone in her new room.”

Harry frowned. “But why?”

“Some people just like to be alone,” she said gently, her voice clipped. “She’s happier that way. Trust me.”

Harry didn’t look convinced, but he nodded, accepting her words. Lily smiled and ruffled his hair, ignoring the brief, flickering image of Miruna in her mind—her small form curled in the corner of her room, clutching her crutches.

⋘ ──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ──── ⋙

The sun was warm against Lily’s skin as she walked along the shore, watching Harry race ahead, his feet kicking up sprays of saltwater. His laughter was bright, cutting through the sound of waves rolling onto the sand.

James caught up to her, a smile lingering on his lips as he watched their son. “He’s having the time of his life.”

Lily nodded, adjusting her sunhat. This was perfect. Just the three of them. No worries. No distractions.

But then, James’s smile faded slightly. “I still don’t understand why we couldn’t bring Miruna.”

Lily’s fingers tensed around the woven handle of the beach bag. “You know why,” she said, keeping her voice even.

James sighed. “I just… I don’t know, Lils. I know she’s different, but she’s still our daughter. We could’ve figured something out.”

Lily exhaled, watching Harry splash through the shallow waves, pretending he was a dragon tamer. “She wouldn’t have enjoyed it,” she said after a moment. “She’s not like him, James. She wouldn’t have fit in here.”

James didn’t argue, but his silence was heavy.

“She’s fine,” Lily added, forcing a smile. “Sirius is watching her. She loves spending time with him.”

James ran a hand through his hair, then gave a small chuckle. “Yeah, she probably gets away with murder over there.”

Lily smiled, though her stomach twisted slightly.

She didn’t let herself think about Miruna. Not when the ocean stretched wide and beautiful before them, not when Harry laughed with unfiltered joy, not when James reached for her hand and squeezed.

This was better.

⋘ ──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ──── ⋙

“Where is she?” Sirius’s voice was sharp, cutting through the comfortable warmth of the Potter’s sitting room.

Lily barely glanced up from where she sat, cradling a warm cup of tea. Across from her, Remus’s gaze was heavy with concern.

“She’s been sent to a preparatory school,” she answered smoothly. “To help her control her magic.”

“Prep school?” Sirius scoffed. “Since when do you ship off eight-year-olds?”

“She was struggling,” Lily said, lifting the cup to her lips as if the conversation were an inconvenience rather than an accusation. “Her magic is… small. Unstable. She needed guidance, and James and I decided this was best.”

Sirius bristled. “Best? For who?”

Lily set down her tea. “For her.”

Remus folded his hands together, his quiet demeanor not softening the steel in his voice. “Where, Lily?”

“It’s private,” she said smoothly. “Far from distractions.”

Sirius leaned forward, his voice low. “You mean far from Harry.”

Lily’s lips thinned, but she didn’t respond.

“She’s a child,” Sirius pressed, his voice nearing a growl. “Your child.”

“She is my child,” Lily snapped, something sharp and defensive flaring in her chest. “And I know what’s best for her. She’s not like Harry. She’s—”

“Not good enough?” Sirius shot back.

The words stung, and for the briefest moment, Lily faltered.

James, who had been quiet until now, stood abruptly. “Enough. We’re not discussing this.”

Sirius stared at him like he didn’t recognize him.

Remus exhaled slowly and finally sat back, though the tension didn’t leave his face. “If she ever needs anything,” he said after a long pause, “we want to know.”

Lily forced a smile. “She’s perfectly happy.”

Later that night, when the house was quiet, Lily stood by the window, watching the stars.

Somewhere across the house, Miruna sat alone in the tower, eight years old and just having been pulled from Junior Spellcraft. The last time Lily saw her, the girl hadn’t even cried.

She had just looked at her, wide-eyed and silent.

Lily told herself it was better this way.

⋘ ──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ──── ⋙

Harry was practically buzzing as he sat at the kitchen table, his Hogwarts letter unopened in front of him. His hands twitched, eager to tear into it, but James had insisted on waiting.

Lily was shuffling him out of the room when the fireplace roared with green flame. Dumbledore stepped into the room, brushing soot from his elegant robes.

“Good evening, my dear friends,” he greeted, his blue eyes twinkling. “A most exciting time for young Harry, isn’t it?”

James grinned. “The boy’s been talking about it since he could talk.”

Dumbledore chuckled and took a seat. “Which is precisely why I wanted to speak with you before term starts. There are… special circumstances for a child of his unique standing.”

Lily tilted her head. “Special circumstances?”

“Nothing too alarming,” Dumbledore assured. “Merely adjustments to ensure Harry’s potential is properly cultivated. A broom, of course—early access to Quidditch teams would be a great benefit. Perhaps even a dorm separate from the others, away from unnecessary distractions.”

Lily’s smile didn’t waver, but something inside her shifted.

When Dumbledore finally left, James turned to her. “He’s right.”

Lily nodded, staring at the letter in her hands, identical in almost every way to the one that Harry had just taken from the room.

Then, after a long silence, she said, “Miruna can’t go.”

James looked at her.

Lily swallowed, folding her hands in her lap. “It would be a mistake. She’ll only… hold him back.”

“She’s ten,” James said, though his voice lacked conviction.

“She’s not ready. We can tell Dumbledore she’s too weak, that she isn’t ready for Hogwarts yet. Maybe… maybe ever.”

James was quiet for a long time. Then he exhaled, rubbing his temple. “You’re sure?”

Lily nodded, and for the first time, she didn’t feel guilt.

Only relief.

⋘ ──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ──── ⋙

The tower was quiet when Lily arrived. Too quiet. The walls still held the faintest lingering warmth of Miruna’s presence, but the girl herself was gone now — whisked away that morning by portkey, as arranged. Lily didn’t ask James to come with her. There was no point. This wasn’t a sentimental visit; it was just a final check. A formality.

The room was still. The small bed was hastily made, the sheets wrinkled from a restless night’s sleep. The bookshelf stood against the far wall, lined with worn stories that fingers had flipped through over and over again until the spines cracked. Lily didn’t bother touching any of them. They were just relics now — remnants of a chapter that was finally over.

It’s done.

Her chest felt unburdened for the first time in years. Harry wouldn’t have to share his spotlight anymore. No more stumbling steps trying to keep up with him, no more awkward pauses when strangers asked how both of them were doing as if they actually cared. No, now he could just be Harry Potter — The Boy Who Lived . There was nothing in his way anymore.

A voice in her head — smooth, calm, and familiar — slipped in like silk. This is for the greater good, Lily. It always has been.

Her mouth twitched into a smile. Yes. Of course, it was. This was never about punishment; it was about potential. Harry’s potential. She was simply ensuring that her son could shine as brightly as he was meant to, unencumbered by his sister’s limitations.

The desk caught her eye, or rather, the splintered corner of it. Miruna must’ve cracked it with her crutch in frustration at some point, the jagged wood stark against the smooth surface. Lily didn’t know when it happened — she’d stopped visiting frequently enough to notice those things — but it didn’t really matter now. She’ll find her own way, eventually.

Kids like her always do.

She turned away, already stepping toward the door when a cold, nagging voice wormed its way into her chest. She didn’t even cry when you sent her away.

Lily stopped in her tracks. Her hand hovered over the doorknob.

“She knew it was better this way,” she murmured to herself, forcing a level tone. “She… understood.”

Did she?

Her jaw clenched. It didn’t matter. There was no need to dwell on such things. Miruna was gone now, and Harry’s future was secured. That was what mattered. That was what had always mattered. She would grow accustomed to her new life eventually. And if she didn’t — well — that was beyond Lily’s concern now.

Her hand tightened on the doorknob as the voice in her head returned, softer now. You didn’t even say goodbye.

But another voice — smooth and unwavering — quickly followed. For the greater good.

She exhaled slowly. Yes. That was it. For the greater good. Harry would get to live his life without the weight of his sister’s shadow. Miruna wouldn’t slow him down.

With that, Lily stepped through the door and closed it firmly behind her, not bothering to lock it. There was no need. Miruna wouldn’t be coming back.

By the time she arrived at the base of the stairs, Lily was already planning the letter she’d send to Harry that evening. She’d tell him how proud she was, how excited she was to hear about his first week at Hogwarts, how she hoped he was settling into Gryffindor well. Maybe she’d even mention how lucky he was that Dumbledore had taken such a shining interest in his future.

And when she sat down at the desk to write, she felt a distinct, bitter relief wash over her. Not because her daughter was gone — but because, at long last, it finally felt like she never existed at all .