The pile of parchment and muggle paper was scattered around the table, the tiny little crystal scopes holding them down glowing on almost all of them. A pile of writing implements was in a pile to one corner of the table and the professors started as one of the pen suddenly sparked out against another, scattering them everywhere. Bits of metal and muggle’s fake ivory shards were strewn in a sprinkling of ink, while the offending pen gave one final spin before resting innocently again.
“Mister Spencer’s, and…” a rustle of parchment as Flitwik consulted a list before saying, “Miss Worth’s. I believe they both have three detentions each this year, all due to them fighting each other.” Worth’s amber enamel and delicate silver filigree piece had also been used to write several of the essays that were on the table, the crystals holding them down among the most brightly shining. “Miss Worth has had her pen since her seventh birthday, she is most concerned about getting it back.”
“It’s the sustained focus while writing, I believe. The students don’t have precise control of their magic, and indeed almost all of them can’t even feel the flow of their energy yet therefore they cannot stop their magic from being imbued into their writing implements, and has no control of how it takes form and acted. We haven’t had these kind of problems before because feather quills and reed stylus don’t last long, and the act of dipping them in ink have a cleansing act on metal nibs. But these act as a permanent focus much unlike wands, and coupled with underage magic--”
“Indeed, as I said, there has been at least one mishap in potions because of it. A student wrongly labelled a bottle, and the ingredient in the bottle - reacted.” Slughorn, potions professor confirmed.
“Then I believe we have a new policy to write and submit to the board,” Dippet said. “In the meantime, Minerva,”
“Filius and I can nullify the magic in these, but it will take time as it must be done individually. But I can’t be certain what repair charms will do to Mister Spencer’s property.”
Muggle studies professor Burnsfield sorted out through the pens, setting aside another two almost identical pens, the difference being the stain on the fake ivory. “It’s...mass-produced,” he said, pronouncing the word carefully. “I believe I can find out where to purchase another.”
“Please do. That concludes this meeting, then.” Dippet rose slowly out of his seat, “I believe I’m expected at the Ministry this afternoon, so I’ll be going now.”
Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore watched the rest of the professors file away. “You don’t quite agree, Albus.”
“We can’t keep separating ourselves away from the muggles. They will build more and more objects that are permanent, blank slates that the students will bring in. They think very differently, nowadays, after the wars.” Dumbledore said. He picked up a parchment, easily focusing through the urge to mark an undeserved A on it and touched the tip of his wand to it, drawing out a silvery strand to deposit it in a tiny vial, one of many arranged in a wooden box. “Though next time, maybe we can do something other than ignoring it.”