AN: This chapter is longer than the previous few, but don't get used to it. But suffer through the short chapters and I promise (Oh ye of little faith) that I'll make it up to you at the last.

PART TWO

Chapter 4 - Promise Kept

George could hear Angelina shifting from one foot to the other behind him. He pictured her nervously holding his brother's arm as though they were about to be formally introduced at their own wedding reception. Well, soon enough. He, himself, waited stoically. The slight upturn of his lips was the only indication that he was at all content with where he found himself. A misplaced look if he'd ever worn one.

The room was dingy. Worthless artifacts lined the shelves along the walls, and the dust was rising lazily through slants of sunlight from the windows, which were filthy. Fred coughed behind him, and he swung his eyes around to see that a rather beefy man had taken up residence behind an ancient cash register. Aside from the hair color, he reminded George a bit of Harry's Uncle Vernon.

The man grunted but didn't speak. George didn't step forward, though his brother prodded him in the back, making Angelina giggle. He shot them an annoyed look and turned back to the man.

"I'm here to see Jamila."

The man's eyes narrowed menacingly, though he still said nothing. Identical grins broke out on the twins' faces, and even Angelina, nervous as she was, smiled a little. They'd found the right place. George strode forward, pulling something out of his pocket.

"Just give her this and see if she doesn't come downstairs." He set a worn and folded scrap of paper on the counter and the man snatched it up abruptly, then mounted the stairs and climbed out of their line of sight. George turned around to see that Fred, predictably, was already examining a scoop full of beetles.

"Better stock than the apothecary in Diagon Alley," he commented dryly. "Reckon we could make them dance a jig?" For just a moment the light of mischief danced in his eyes, then he saw the look on his brother's face. "I know, I promised."

"Too right! I stuck with you through the whole war and played every prank you wanted while we were at school. I helped you get the joke shop up and running, as promised. All that is surely worth an hour of good behavior."

Angelina sniggered as her boyfriend's face fell. "How'd you know she was upstairs?" she asked, still giggling a bit.

"The ceiling is purple." He'd tried many times to explain to them exactly what kind of connection the blue gem had made between him and Jamila, but he wasn't really sure himself. When he looked her direction, he saw purple. It got fainter, the further away she was, but it never entirely disappeared. He'd thought that they'd broken the spell all those years ago when he sneaked into her room, but it had never entirely left him. He remembered Bill's knowing stare. Bill, who was probably still fretting over Ron and Hermione back at Hogwarts, which is exactly where he and Fred ought to have been at that moment.

His eyes were drawn to the staircase only a few moments before a pair of bare feet appeared. Jamila descended, already speaking with a tone of deep distrust, though she hadn't seen more than their knees so far. George couldn't keep the grin from forming in spite of her obvious disapproval. "Who the hell do you think you are? The sign says closed and that's what we are – CLOSED." They'd apparated into the shop from the street outside, not particularly caring whether or not they were seen.

A pair of flowing trousers, obviously purchased from a tourist shop, possibly the one they'd noticed across the street, came into view, then a matching top. Finally her short, dark hair, framing a face that seemed not to have aged at all. She stopped on the stairs as soon as they were fully in view, a look of confusion replacing the anger of a moment before.

"Who are you?" she whispered.

Fred and Angelina exchanged a worried glance. Bill had said that he'd wiped the girl's memory, but no one had been able to convince George that she might not recognize him.

Jamila's face became even more confused. "I've asked you - we've had this conversation before," she stuttered.

George's grin widened as she looked into his eyes. She didn't seem to have even noticed Fred and Angelina. He took a step forward and recognition flashed briefly across her features.

"George." It wasn't a question, she was sure.

The beefy man appeared behind her on the stairs and took her elbow, as though afraid she might faint. He helped her the rest of the way down, glaring angrily at the intruders.

"Into the office, Lakim," she said quietly. He nodded and opened the door, standing aside to let everyone pass, then hulking with the closed door at his back as Jamila sat down. "Lakim, please check on the girls, and do your perimeter walk. I think we'll be fine."

After a moment's hesitation, the door opened and closed again and they were alone. There was an uncomfortable silence as Fred and Angelina found chairs. George stood, still looking intently at Jamila.

"Lakim used to work for Nadir. When I opened the shop, Nadir ordered a hit on me to remove whatever competition I might offer, and Lakim was given the honors. He let me live. For his trouble, Nadir removed his tongue, among other things." She paused to let the implication sink in, and Fred and George both winced. When a look of revulsion crossed Angelina's face as well, Jamila continued. "Now he works as my security guard. He is uniquely suited for guarding the orphaned girls who are housed here," she finished delicately.

"You run an illegal orphanage?" George asked quietly. Jamila closed her eyes and opened them again before replying, fixing her gaze on the desk in front of her.

"The government orphanage is poorly run and poorly funded. The girls and boys are housed together and no one monitors their activities. Lakim and his brother, Mikal, and I, were stuck there together for three years before I ran away to avoid them. I know what goes on there, and I know why the girls run away. I also know what they resort to in order to support themselves on the street. It was three years after I left the orphanage before I was strong enough to support myself by raiding the pyramids."

No one spoke, and she didn't dare look up to catch their expressions. "I thought when I got the money from the Gem that I'd leave this place forever. But I ran into an old friend that day. She was bruised from her last trick and hungry. I gave her enough for a week's worth of meals. I realized then that someone had to do something about it. It wasn't enough just to save myself." Finally she looked up at George, whose brow was furrowed as he tried to comprehend all that she was saying. Maybe he was searching for a way to make the truth something other than what she was so plainly describing.

"I started this orphanage so that these girls won't have to live through what I did," she finished. Tears were starting in her eyes. She knew that George should have known all of this about her years ago, but there hadn't been time then. There had only been the compulsion.

Fred stood abruptly. "So you were a whore?" he exclaimed loudly.

"FRED!" Angelina hissed angrily, pulling him back into his chair. It was a good thing she had, because George had already crossed the room, and the swing he threw at his brother's head hit nothing but air. For a moment he was overbalanced, and Fred had the presence of mind to scramble out of the chair and put Angelina between them.

George was glaring at his twin with a look of hatred that made him barely recognizable. Angelina looked first at one, then at the other in disbelief. Jamila only smiled sadly.

"Yes, Fred. I was a whore," she stated quietly. She stood, then, avoiding everyone's eyes. "Lakim?" she questioned in the same tone.

Instantly the door opened and the hulking bodyguard appeared in the doorway, his face set in a wary scowl. It was obvious that he'd never left the other side of that door.

"Their business here is concluded. Please show them out."

Fred and George, standing on either side of Angelina's chair, watched wide-eyed as Jamila left quickly through a door they hadn't noticed before. George might have stared all evening if Lakim's heavy hand hadn't fallen on his shoulder to guide him out.

Jamila leaned heavily against the door to her office. The corridor ahead of her was empty, as all the girls were in the upstairs dining hall for dinner. She knew she should be up there with them. It was entirely possible that half the meal would be wasted in a food fight if no one was there to supervise, but she just couldn't bring herself to face anyone.

In the last few minutes she'd regained memories that explained all the strange dreams she'd been having for the past 8 years: Very emotional memories. Somehow, seeing George had brought that entire day crashing back into her conscious mind, and everything else had been pushed aside. She'd known immediately what she had to do, of course. Men like George don't date prostitutes, even reformed ones. Fred's reaction had validated that belief. She'd done the right thing. So then, why did she feel like crying?

Lakim escorted the bemused wizards back into the shop, then out onto the darkening street. Angelina followed, wondering what was going to happen when Fred and George weren't separated by the hulking figure before her. She found out as the silent man abruptly turned and went back inside, slamming the door behind him.

"George, I'm sorry, I was just surprised -" Fred began quickly.

But George cut off his apology. "Go home, Fred."

"Where will you go?" Angelina asked quietly. George turned to her with a puzzled expression, as if he'd forgotten that she was with them.

"No where. I'll get a room here somewhere and maybe she'll talk to me tomorrow."

Angelina nodded. In all the years she'd played Quidditch with Fred and George, she'd never seen either of them behave the way they had tonight. Fred had been unaccountably rude, and George? Well, he was furious.

"Come on, Fred," she said, taking her boyfriend's hand. "Let's check on Ron." Fred only nodded silently before they disapparated, leaving George alone in the dusty street.