The Portion Shop For Broken Hearts

Riley's POV

The first thing I learned about running a potion shop was that people were much more willing to admit their hearts were broken when you were standing behind a counter instead of sitting across from them in a classroom.

At Silverbrook Academy, students could spend an entire afternoon pretending they had not cried over a failed romance, a ruined friendship, or a letter that never came. The moment they stepped into The Remedy & Ruin and smelled cinnamon, lavender, and warm honey drifting through the little shop, though, their secrets seemed to loosen on their own.

That was exactly why I loved this place, even though it was barely large enough for three customers to stand inside without bumping elbows. The shelves leaned slightly toward one another, the old wooden floor creaked whenever someone crossed the room, and the brass bell above the door had a habit of ringing whenever it pleased. Every corner belonged to me, and for the first time in my life, I had something that felt completely mine.

The Remedy & Ruin sat on a quiet corner of Silverbrook Academy's outer grounds, close enough to the student paths that I could hear the morning rush without having to join it. Beyond the old stone wall, Mistwood was already waking up, with enchanted shop signs flickering to life, delivery carts rattling over cobblestones, and the distant chime of the town clock reminding everyone that another magical day had begun.

I liked being close to everything without being swallowed by it. Silverbrook gave me customers, and Mistwood gave me a life outside the shop. Students wandered past carrying spellbooks and half-finished assignments, professors occasionally stopped in for tea, and townspeople came through whenever their hearts needed a little more attention than their pride was willing to admit.

I was standing behind the counter with a spoon between my fingers when the blue liquid in my cauldron turned violently purple. I stared at it for several seconds. The potion gave a tiny pop and sent a purple bubble floating toward the ceiling.

"That is not supposed to happen," I murmured.

The bubble burst overhead with a soft splash, leaving behind a faint glittering stain that looked suspiciously like a constellation. I sighed, reached for a cloth, and reminded myself that being good at magic did not mean every potion behaved itself. Especially not before breakfast.

The bell over the door rang before I could climb onto the little stool beside the counter. I turned with the cloth still in my hand and found Netty Bet standing in the doorway, clutching her schoolbag against her chest and looking as though she had spent the entire morning deciding whether coming here was a terrible idea.

"Please tell me you have something for embarrassing yourself in front of the person you like," she said.

I smiled. "Good morning to you too, Netty."

She closed the door behind her and hurried toward the counter, lowering her voice as if the shelves might gossip about her later. "He smiled at me during breakfast, and I panicked so badly that I poured pumpkin juice into my tea, called Professor Grant 'Mum,' and walked into the wrong classroom."

I pressed my lips together because laughing would probably get me fired from my own shop before I had even managed to make a profit.

"That sounds less like a romantic emergency and more like a very ambitious morning."

"It was horrible."

"It was memorable."

"I hate you."

"You came here voluntarily."

Netty glared at me for a moment before breaking into a reluctant smile.

I reached beneath the counter and pulled out a small amber bottle filled with something that shimmered softly whenever it caught the light. "Before you ask, no, it will not make him like you."

Her smile disappeared. "I was going to ask exactly that."

"I know."

I set the bottle between us. "It's a Heartcraft blend. Heartcraft is a rare branch of potioncraft that lets me sense emotional wounds and shape a potion around what someone actually needs. It can help with fear, confusion, heartbreak, or a lack of confidence, but it cannot manufacture feelings that aren't there."

Netty looked down at the bottle. "So you can't make him fall in love with me?"

"No."

"Can you make him think I'm incredibly charming?"

"That would be dangerously close to cheating."

"What if I'm naturally incredibly charming?"

"Then you won't need the potion."

She considered this. "I dislike how reasonable you are."

"I get that a lot."

I turned the bottle toward her. "This one should help you feel steadier. You'll still have to talk to him yourself. If he likes you, you'll discover that honestly. If he doesn't, you'll survive the conversation without introducing yourself as Professor Grant."

Netty covered her face. "You are never letting me forget that, are you?"

"Absolutely not."

She laughed, and some of the tension left her shoulders. That was the part of Heartcraft I loved most. I could not fix someone's heart for them, and I would never want to. Sometimes the best thing magic could do was give someone enough room to face what they were already feeling.

Netty picked up the bottle carefully. "How much?"

"Two silver."

She placed three silver coins on the counter.

I pushed one back. "I said two."

"The extra is for emotional suffering."

"Then I should be charging you four."

She snatched the coin before I could change my mind, tucked the bottle into her bag, and headed for the door with considerably more confidence than she had arrived with. Before leaving, she turned around and gave me a serious look. "You know this place is going to become famous, don't you?"

I looked around my tiny shop, at the mismatched jars, crooked shelves, half-cleaned cauldron, and hand-painted sign above the counter. "That is the plan."

She grinned. "Then I'm going to tell everyone I knew you before you became important."

"You already tell everyone everything."

"Exactly."

The door closed behind her, and I found myself smiling at the quiet that followed.

Outside, Silverbrook Academy was beginning its morning rush. Students crossed the courtyard in clusters, witches hurried toward practical lessons with spellbooks tucked beneath their arms, fae students moved through the crowd with effortless confidence, and somewhere beyond the stone buildings, a young dragon was probably setting something on fire despite the academy's very specific rules about indoor flames.

I loved the sound of it all. The academy had been part of my life for years, but lately it felt different because I was no longer simply another student trying to survive exams and impress professors. I had a shop now, even if it was small, every bottle I sold brought me one step closer to the future I wanted.

I did not want a grand title or a famous position in magical society. I wanted a warm little shop filled with strange ingredients, loyal customers, shelves full of colorful bottles, and enough money to keep the lights on without asking anyone for permission.

Most importantly, I wanted to prove that magic did not have to be impressive to matter.

The bell rang again. I straightened immediately, expecting another customer, but nobody entered.

Instead, a folded piece of paper had appeared beneath the door. I stared at it. Then I glanced toward the window. The courtyard looked completely ordinary, filled with students heading toward their morning lessons, and nobody appeared to be watching the shop.

I crouched down and picked up the paper. A silver seal had been pressed into the fold. My curiosity won, and I opened it.

I need a potion that can make someone stop loving another person.

I read the sentence twice. Then a third time.

My first thought was that whoever had written it was either heartbroken, dramatic, or both, which meant I was probably about to receive my strangest customer yet. My second thought was that I should absolutely not be excited about that.

Unfortunately, I was already smiling.

I turned the note over, expecting a name, but there was nothing written on the other side except three words in neat handwriting.

I will come tomorrow.

I looked toward the door again. For the first time that morning, the shop felt very quiet. I had no idea who had left the message, why they had chosen my shop, or why they thought I could brew something that should never be brewed.

But one thing was certain.

Tomorrow suddenly felt very far away.