When Beckett mentioned veela mating for life, Bob couldn't help but snort in amusement. "Veela mate for life just as much as people with lycanthropy do, which is to say, sometimes, when they feel like it, and they the person enough. On the plus side, since Saporta was the one who pulled your hair, he'll probably have a certain degree of control over you if the veela magic reasserts itself. Magic's a two-way road and all that." Bob'd spent a summer investigating Scandinavian wizarding bloodlines when he was fifteen, trying to track down his dad, and a number of the older magical families in that area claimed a veela or two as ancestors. While in the end Bob couldn't ay for sure if he was actually related to any of those families, it had seemed like a good idea at the time to look into veela lore and magic, just in case.
"Anyway, humans are predators too, technically, and they prey on veela just as much as veela prey on them," Bob rambled on, poking and prodding at Beckett, taking advantage of the chance to check him over now that the man was no longer unbearably paranoid. "Plus, veela charm stops working when veela get angry and stop trying to seduce their audience. The main problem with veela half-breeds is that sometimes they only get half the geneājust the charm or just the harpy. Monster. Vicious bird thing, whatever. And they don't have as good a sense of when they are or aren't tapping into their veela magic, it's more of a triggered response than a conscious choice. Here's hoping none of the students exposed to that wand core were old enough to have be crushing hard on anyone." Or adventurous enough to be sporting scars of a dubious nature. Though Bob now doubted Beckett's scar had much of anything to do with this whole escapade, that didn't mean he trusted the damned thing any more than he had previously. Cursed items rarely left their victims as apparently unscathed as Beckett.