“It can’t be,” said I, “you are a gorgeous Omega. I bet even at school you have never wanted admirers.”
He was irritated. I did not know why I knew it. He had certainly masked his irritation perfectly.
“That’s one way of putting it,” he answered drily, “but my gender was not fully developed until my seventh year in Durmstrung; therefore, no, certainly not so many admirers as you’d like to picture. I am flattered, Harry. My old admirers daren’t send me flowers as gifts lest I cursed their shoddy genitals off,” he smirked, “are you courting me, young Harry? If so, I’d seriously reconsider about refraining from cursing you.”
I hoped he was joking. He was a rather successful Omega, apprenticing to one of the most renowned wandlore Masters ever. A successful Omega, unfortunately, was a rarity in our society. I did not recall a single Omega holding substantial positions in the Ministry. Thomas was mightily powerful magic wise, which I can see clearly from the way he cast wandless, wordless magic with ease, almost effortlessly.