Tom pressed his lips against his laced fingers and prayed with all of his might for a miracle. He sat for hours on the pew in the very back of the church every day since his shock treatment and he clutched his hands together and rocked back and forth as he prayed. God had never listened to him before and he had no expectations that The Almighty might notice his existence this time, but he didn't know what else to do. The next day he would have another treatment and he couldn't think of anything short of a miracle to stop it.

"Thomas Riddle, is it?"

He nearly jumped out of his skin at the voice. His eyes snapped open to reveal a inhumanly tall, blonde man bending down to face him. No, not a man. A man could not look like this. It was an angel.

It spoke again. "Well? I was told to look for the dark-haired little boy in the church. That his name would be Thomas Riddle. That's you, isn't it?" It's voice was deep and echoed off the stained glass windows. There was a slight accent tinting the words. Angels couldn't be German could they? Tom didn't think it likely. But, not long ago he wouldn't think it likely that he could throw boys twice his size or even porridge bowls with nothing but his anger.

"Tom," he murmured.

"What was that?"

"I-I'm Tom," he said, struggling to speak more loudly through his tight throat. "Just Tom. Not... not Thomas."

"I apologize. Mind if I sit, Tom?"

Tom scratched at the sore on his neck and nodded. The angel sat next to him, only a breath from touching him at the hip, and the pew creaked under his weight.

"What happened to your neck, Tom?"

"Nothing."

"Let me see," the angel said, gently taking Tom's hand away from the sore and looking at it. Tom shivered under the gaze. "Where did that come from?"

"It's my punishment."

"For what?"

"For getting angry."

The angel kept his hold on Tom's hand, resting the mass of palms and fingers on his thigh. It felt strange to be touched after being invisible for so long. "You're a very special person, Tom. You have a gift. Your mother was a witch and she seems to have passed her powers on to you."

The world stopped for a moment. He jerked his hand away from the angel.

"And God sent you to destroy me?"

The angel blinked and then he laughed. Tom gripped the edge of the pew, overcome by fear.

"No, no. Don't be frightened of me. Poor boy, what have they taught you here? No. I am here to help you."

"But my mother's a witch. That makes me..."

"A wizard."

"Evil."

The angel smiled. "Perhaps. But not all wizards are evil. I am a wizard. Do you think I am evil?"

Tom worried his lip. "I... I think you are an angel."

"Do you?" The angel bent to look into Tom's eyes. "There will be another wizard who will come here and who will save you from this place. I know because I have sent him here. He is a tricky one and he may later denounce me. Remember that it is I who saved you when he would have otherwise ignored your situation. Remember that it is I who care for you. Do you trust me, Tom?"

"I trust you." And he did. He couldn't help but trust his miracle.

The angel straightened his back and turned as if he heard something. "I have to be going now, Tom." He put a small vial into Tom's hands. "Drink this. It will heal your sores."

"Wait," said Tom, but the angel didn't seem to hear him. He stood, said a word that Tom did not understand and disappeared.