She had hated them ever since she’d been a little girl and her father decided to tickle her with one. At the time the sensation had been so overwhelmingly foreign and uncomfortable that he had sworn and cursed lowly beneath his breath when her foot nearly broke his nose. Even her initial entrance to the Wizarding World had been fraught with hesitation and annoyance when it came time for her to deal with quills, of all things. They were pointy, they were annoying, and they were so very much less efficient than a bloody pen or pencil would have been.