The first-year courtyard had four painted squares and one rule everyone ignored. No magical interference during handball. This sounded easy. It was not. When thirty magical seven-year-olds became competitive, balls developed unusual opinions about direction. Professor Ward had caught one hovering above the court the previous week. Nobody admitted doing it. The ball had remained in detention. Harper thought this was hilarious. The Friday handball ladder began as an informal game and became serious within three weeks. Mia was the best player in first year. Harper refused to accept this peacefully.

"She cheats."

Ava watched Mia send the ball cleanly into Harper's square.

"How?"

"Skill."

"That is not cheating."

"Feels like it."

Jasper was terrible. He was not disastrously terrible. That would have been interesting. He was simply always half a second late. The ball bounced. Jasper decided where it was going. The ball had already gone somewhere else.

"Stop thinking," Harper told him.

"That's bad advice."

"Not for handball."

"Still bad."

Ava was surprisingly good because she noticed patterns in where people preferred to hit. She was also terrible at pretending she did not notice.

"Mia goes cross-court when pressured."

Mia stared at her.

"Stop analysing me."

"Then vary your response."

"We're playing handball."

"Exactly."

The game ended when Theo hit the ball too high. It struck the wall above the court. At the exact same moment, someone nearby attempted a light charm. The ball flashed bright green. Everyone shouted. It ricocheted off the wall, bounced off a bench and shot through the lower pane of a classroom window. Glass cracked. Silence. Harper whispered, "Run." Ava grabbed her sleeve.

"No."

Professor Ward appeared in the doorway. Thirty children suddenly became fascinated by their shoes. Ward looked at the broken pane. Then the green handball rolling slowly across the classroom floor.

"Whose spell?"

Soren raised his hand miserably.

"Mine. I was practising the light."

"At the ball?"

"No. It jumped."

"Magic does not jump. Attention does."

She looked at Theo.

"And the ball?"

"Mine."

Ward nodded.

"Good. Two people. One accident. Both help repair it."

Harper whispered, "That's fair." Ward's eyes moved to her.

"And the rest of you return to your game without turning it into an investigation."

Ava quietly closed her notebook. Jasper laughed. That afternoon Making and Mending became unexpectedly practical. Ward brought the broken window panel into class. The crack had been taped to keep pieces secure.

"Nobody here can restore glass properly yet," she said. "But you can learn how repairs work."

She showed them the difference between mending and reversing. Magic could pull broken edges together if the material remained and if the damage was simple enough. It could not magically create missing glass from nothing. It could not turn time backward.

"Most useful magic," Ward said, "is not making consequences disappear. It is working with what remains."

Jasper liked that. Harper did not.

"Can older students fix it completely?"

"Some can."

"So consequences disappear later."

"No. Someone still has to know what they are doing, spend the effort, and pay for material that is gone."

Ava raised her hand.

"Can magic recreate missing material from Essence?"

Ward's expression changed slightly.

"Not permanently in the way you're asking."

"Why?"

"Because temporary magical structure is not the same as matter. That distinction becomes important later."

Harper said, "Later as in next week?"

"Later as in not while I am teaching seven-year-olds to patch cloth."

The class laughed. After school, Jasper found Soren and Theo cleaning the courtyard as part of their consequence. Not because cleaning caused the window. Because Ward believed consequences should repair community inconvenience when possible. Soren was sweeping tiny glass fragments from inside the frame. Theo held the dustpan.

"Need help?" Jasper asked.

Theo looked suspicious.

"Why?"

"Because I have nothing to do until dinner."

"That's weird."

"Okay."

Jasper turned.

"Wait."

Theo handed him the dustpan. Harper and Ava appeared five minutes later. Harper complained about voluntary cleaning while helping anyway. Ava reorganised the broken-glass bin labels. The job took twenty minutes. Nothing magical happened. That was probably why Jasper remembered it. By evening, rain clouds had cleared and the sea was bright again. The trio sat on the western courtyard steps eating apples. Mia crossed the handball court. Harper called, "Tomorrow. Rematch." Mia said, "You said that yesterday."

"Tomorrow I mean it."

"You meant it yesterday."

"More tomorrow."

Mia shook her head and left. Jasper said, "She's going to beat you."

"Traitor."

Ava took a bite of apple.

"Probability supports Jasper."

"Both traitors."

A gull landed on the wall. Harper threw it the end of her apple. The gull caught it. A prefect shouted from across the courtyard, "NO FEEDING BIRDS!" Harper shouted back, "IT WAS AN ACCIDENT!" Ava stared at her.

"You aimed."

"Accidentally."

Jasper laughed so hard his stomach hurt. The sea below moved in perfect, ordinary rhythm. For several days afterward, the strangest thing at Tidefall was still the green handball. Jasper began to understand why ordinary days mattered. Without them, nothing unusual would have had shape.