The needles bounced harmlessly off of Burke's gloves, though the excess magic was channeled into heat in the young man's hands. Oh, but that smell was disgusting. Burke attempted a cleaning charm, but to no avail. Still, it was interesting: The sphere was certainly more...well, prickly this time around, yet it wasn't overtly harming him (Burke had little doubt that had Ms. Prince desired it; the sphere would be quite harmful indeed).
Caractacus sat in a chair with the gobstone at the desk and stared, his eyes piercing and accusatory. 'The stone will doubtless resist any attempt at Transfiguration.' The mental admission pained Burke; Henry would have been able to perform a working allowing them to isolate the amalgam and dispose of the unnecessary gobstone.
As Caractacus stared at the stone, his busy little mind came up with several ideas and dismissed them almost as quickly: Fiendfyre (he didn't think it prudent to perform Dark Arts in the castle so soon after startling the Headmaster), brute magical force (he probably couldn't take Ms. Prince's magic in such a contest), magical isolation (impractical given his lack of materials)...
With each dismissed idea, Burke's anger grew. This gobstone was his. It was a gift, that meant something both socially and magically. The object was his. Ms. Prince had no right to tamper with it.
It was then that the thought occured to him: If he solved her little puzzle, she would. The minute Caractacus obtained access to the gobstone and proceeded about his way was the minute he communicated to Ms. Prince, a Slytherin, that she implicitly did indeed possess the right to trifle with his property. If he solved the puzzle, Burke would be marking its creation as legitimate in Ms. Prince's mind.
He would not validate her.
Leaving the gobstone on his desk, Caractacus sought out Ms. Prince, sweeping through the hallways with a scowl affixed to his face. Outside of her rooms, Caractacus knocked forcefully on the door, then folded his gloved hands in front of him.