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His father taught him Reparo after one of the twins’ pranks left him lying face down in the mud, more frightened by the bridge across his nose snapping in two than injured. Then someone lifted the halves off his face and gently nudged him to his feet.
“There,” Dad said as he handed him back the newly polished glasses. “All better.”
Only it hadn’t been. The glasses had never sat quite right on his nose again, and the twins got off with a light scolding.
Some sunderings, Percy thinks as he lifts and examines a loose nosepad, are beyond fixing.