...and this would be why, much as Bob enjoyed the younger generations, he'd been eternally grateful when he'd finally put in enough time to be pulled off of peds. "Children," Bob snapped, flicking silencing charms at both Beckett and Berg, "behave. Berg, if you're so competent in the subjects you're currently taking and lacking only NEWTs, there should be no problem with you waiting out the year to take the tests when they're administered. Plenty of people are homeschooled and take the NEWTs without ever setting foot in a classroom. With the exception of Potions, it sounds like you have no need or reason to attend any of your classes. They are no longer an acceptable excuse for avoiding Ancient Runes." Which sounded smart and snazzy, but was Bob being self-serving. Not that Bob had any problem with that—if Schechter wanted someone with NEWTs to be the official professors, that was fine. Bob could oversee and Berg could do the teaching.
"And you, Beckett, clearly are in need of additional schooling if you're so ignorant when it comes to curses and blood magic to think it's fine to get a fucking magical tattoo when you've been specifically told not to do that. Yes, this might, what, keep the curse in check? Or it might trip it and cause unmitigated chaos and carnage." Bloody kids and their constant insistence that they knew what was best for themselves just because they'd lived through a war. Ugh. Bob wondering if his mum's generation had felt the same way about him and his peers when he'd just finished school. Probably. Kids.