After a few more minutes spent with Door, Ingress, and Gavroche in the House of Arch, Tom turned to the serious matters at hand.
He had been contemplating closing off the Knockturn Alley entrance to London Below for some time now. It was a notion he toyed with, a just in case scenario. He was glad now for the thoughts he'd spared on it.
Emerging into Knockturn Alley, he draped his invisibility cloak around himself. He carefully cast bindings and wards, blocking and hiding the narrow alley that lead into the Underside. Only an Opener would be able to get through the magical wall he'd created.
He, of course, passed right through. Once in London Below again, he cast more reinforcements from the other side.
For better or for worse, the Death Eaters were trapped in London Below.
It took him quite some time to track the wizards down. It wasn’t that it was difficult. All he had to do was follow the long, meandering trail of damage and frightened, angry people.
He spent hours running through London Below, opening ways and dodging in and out of pockets of time. He stopped clumps of hurrying people, questioning them as to what they might have seen and where. Every time he spoke with them, he was answered with unpleasant tidings and downcast, angry eyes. The Death Eaters – and the good news, if you could call it that, was that there were only two or perhaps three - were cutting a swath through his world. The first Underside dwellers they encountered had been spared their wrath. They’d been seeking information regarding obscure occult items and so had only been threatening and using minor curses for a laugh. Now, as they discovered they were trapped, they were becoming vicious in their panic to get out.
As he closed his pursuit, he felt the disturbance in the magic of London Below. It tasted differently in the back of his throat as he scented it on the air. It tasted of Hogwarts and Rome and hidden conclaves in dark places. He hated it where once he'd embraced it.
The Underside was his world. This was his home, and his people, whether they accepted them or not. He had responsibilities and he wasn't about to allow this invasion to continue.
He caught up with the Death Eaters at the end of an alley. The fog glowed in spurts of red and green as it twined around the cobblestone paving.
"Show us the way out, bitch," snarled one of the wizards, the mask gone and a panicked face visible. “Amburo!” This was a burning hex. Tom felt hatred flame through him. This was likely one of the bastards who’d killed the family Tonks had told him about.
"Crucio!" shouted the other, hitting the Ratspeaker, who looked vaguely familiar to Tom, with a blast of the Cruciatus. The young woman writhed and screamed piteously under the torment of both curses at once.
Tom Disapparated and took his place right behind her attackers. He gave them no time to react. He stunned them both with one blast - the fury amplifying his spell was intense.
The wizards sprawled to the ground, and Tom noticed with horror that the writhing woman was shielding a younger girl. The child’s skin was ashen where it wasn't charred, and she was not moving.
The Ratspeaker looked up at him, fear in her eyes as she saw another wizard with a wand looming over her.
He softened his face and voice. "I'm Lord Ostium of the House of Arch," he said.
"I… I know, my Lord," she whispered, the fear not leaving her. “Please… please don’t….”
He cast a healing spell focused to pinpoint the worst of the burn damage. "By the Temple and by the Arch, no more harm will come to you. I promise you this."
Tom was aware of more Ratspeakers gathering at the opening of the alley. They would be able to care for the injured young woman. The girl was past the point of anyone's help.
He turned his attention now to the wizards lying at his feet. He had never known such righteous indignation. How dare they? How dare they barge their way into his world? How dare they take the life of one of his people?
With a snarl, he sank to the ground between him, his wand clattering to the stones as he pressed one hand on each of their chests, right over the hearts.
He Opened.
A crowd was watching him now, watching his every move. He raised his eyes slowly, unsure of what he'd see. Would they be aghast? Or would their eyes be angry or distrustful, full of contempt or fear?
When he looked up, he saw fierce respect in their eyes. For him.
Two men rushed forward, stepping past the gory mess of the wizards' corpses carefully, to reach the woman and the girl. Tom murmured, "Scourgify" to clean his hands, and then transfigured the bodies of the Death Eaters into bones, the traditional way to dispose of those killed in violent acts.
He cast a few more general healing spells on the woman and then assisted one of the men in carrying her to her clan. The other gently brought the girl's body to the hushed, waiting crowd.
"Tirellia, isn't it?" Tom asked the woman, finally placing a name with her face. "I regret I wasn't there to stop them sooner."
"Thank you, my lord," she said in a hushed voice. "You saved me."
He smiled, looking much more confident than he felt. "You needn't thank me. I've only done what I swore oaths to do. The House of Arch is to guide and protect London Below, and as the Lord of the House I take my oaths seriously."
Heads nodded in the crowd. Some of them bowed in his direction. In London Below, there was no royalty, no ruler, but there was the House of Arch, and since time immemorial those of the House had been respected.
By this time tomorrow, the Underside would be buzzing with the story of Lord Ostium's bravery and daring. There would be talk of how he'd dispatched the evil wizards. And if he happened to be a magic user himself, well, wasn't that a handy thing in a pinch? He was a fine Lord and a Healer and worthy of the Lady Door.
At the moment, though, Tom’s thoughts were not about being accepted by the people of London Below for this act. Worries buzzed through his head. Had he done the right thing? Had he killed out of anger instead of in accordance with the oaths he’d taken? He didn’t know. Was he a monster, or was he a hero, or was he something in between, something to be eternally confused and unsure with every act?
“I’ll send a potion by pigeon as soon as I return to the House of Arch,” he told one of the men. “She must take it; it will help with the pain.”
The man nodded, and the Ratspeakers moved off as one. Tom was left in the alleyway alone.
His eyes fell on the bones. A monster would leave them, hide them, cast them away. A hero would take them straight to the Aurors as he turned himself in.
Tom picked them up, tucking them into a pouch he conjured. Then he went home, tired and confused, but strangely enough, feeling less out of sorts than he had in some weeks.