Disclaimer #1: I debated about whether to rate this story "teen" or "mature," but when I reviewed it closely, there were really only two scenes I worried were pushing the boundaries, and one of them is in this chapter. It's actually more of a paragraph than a scene, so if that's not your thing, skip it. You'll know when to stop reading; pick back up at "someone swore."

Disclaimer #2: Because I haven't said it before: The Weasleys and the plot of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (AKA chapter 5) belong to J.K. Rowling.

Chapter 8

Bill watched his knight drag Amy's fifth pawn off the board, kicking and screaming. He had forgotten about that game of strip chess until he said it, and now it was all he could think about. Amy in tight jeans and a pink bra. Amy in striped knickers and a pink bra, long legs folded in front of her. Amy out of the—

"It's your move."

He smirked.

"For the game," she added quickly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "It's your turn to play."

The faintest tinge of pink stained her cheeks. Amy was always so sure of herself that it was unusual to see her fidgety and uncomfortable, which made it hard to resist teasing her. Bill thought her confidence was one of the sexiest things about her. But she had said he should keep his hands to himself, and damned if he would be the one to give in this game, this other game. He played, ignoring the vigorous protests of his chessmen. He could have won several moves ago if he had tried (Amy really did suck at chess), but where was the fun in that?

She studied the chessboard and he studied her. She had obviously dressed not to impress (he had heard what she said to Ginny this morning through the door), but he had been right when he told his brothers that Amy looked hot in anything. Even baggy jeans and a boy's t- shirt. She was beautiful, and she had a smile and a warmth that drew people to her. He had liked her immediately, and they were just friends for a while, right up until that afternoon in the columned chamber of KV5.

Bill scowled. She was twirling her finger over her rook, round and round, up and over, but not touching it. He hated when she did that, but until she touched the chess piece, she didn't have to move it. She finally made contact and moved it left. Bill moved a pawn where it could be easily captured and sat back to study her some more.

Beauty, warmth, generosity. . . . He couldn't believe she had offered her next bonus for the bribe, just like that. And what exactly had she meant about knowing what it was like to love someone? She didn't mean him . . . did she?

Amy nudged him with her foot. "Pay attention."

He moved a piece at random, ignoring the ensuing chaos on the board. Of course she wasn't in love with him. Charlie was full of it. Bill had been perfectly clear the last time he had invited Amy to spend the night that their sleeping together— again— didn't change anything. It was convenient, that was all. Why go looking for another partner when they liked each other out of bed and were good together in it? Amy had sat on the edge of his bed calmly buttoning her shirt, said she knew that already and she would see him at work, and left. Witches in love cried and screamed and threw fits when you didn't cooperate, they didn't toss your socks in the laundry on their way out the door.

Bill returned his attention to her. She was frowning at the board with that adorable crinkle to her nose that appeared whenever she focused on something. She had been wearing pink last time, and the edge of a white strap had peeked out from her shirt this morning, but what kind of bra was she wearing now? He assumed she had pulled her hair into a ponytail to keep his hands out of it, but it left her neck exposed. Amy made the sexiest sound when he kissed her neck, sort of a—

"Bill?"

He dragged his eyes up to hers, and for the first time since this game— the chess game— had started, she met his gaze. And he broke out in a sweat. Merlin, how did she do that? She wasn't even flirting, just watching him with those wide, dark eyes.

Okay, maybe he would be the one to give first.

()()()()

She'd made it through the game. A horribly unnerving game during which Bill had watched her with unusual concentration. She'd almost made it to her purse, had stood up and was reaching out for it, when she stepped on a stray chess piece, which was rather painful with bare feet. And he had rushed over, and she had insisted she was fine, and then they had both moved to pick it up, and their hands brushed. And their eyes connected, and Bill dropped the rook or bishop or whatever it was and wove his fingers through hers, and all Amy wanted was one more time. One more time to hold him close, one more time to feel his touch, one more time to say goodbye. So when Bill tugged on her hand, she didn't resist, and they tumbled backward into the space in front of the couch.

Gods, he kissed like a dream. Warm and soft and slow, and one hand was pulling the elastic in her hair, and one hand was sliding down her spine, and she was melting. Melting into that sweet oblivion where nothing else mattered, nothing else even existed, and Amy closed her eyes and poured everything she had into this one kiss, this one time. He drew his hand back up her spine, dragging her shirt with it, and she sat up and raised her arms. He pulled it over her head, then removed her bra. She shook out her hair, feeling the silky mass slide across her back and upper arms, and then she leaned forward again, into his hands, against his mouth, and he rolled, pinning her beneath him. She shifted, letting his body settle against hers, and suddenly warm and soft and slow was not enough. He was kissing his way down her neck, and she whimpered, fisting his shirt in both hands and tugging hard because she wanted skin. Skin under her hands, and skin against hers, and finally he shrugged the shirt off and returned to her neck, and lower, and she threaded one hand into his long hair, holding him against her breast, and the other stroked up and down the muscles of his back. She drew one knee up and arched, seeking pressure, and—

Someone swore, low and angry. Someone who wasn't Bill.

Amy's eyes snapped opened as Charlie turned around. No. No, no, no, she'd never been caught with a boy, not even at school, and for it to be now— tonight—

"No. No, please—" Amy pushed against Bill's shoulders and tried to wiggle out from underneath his weight.

"For Godric's sake, Bill, let her go," Charlie snarled.

Amy didn't have the courage to see if Charlie's back was still turned. She was scrambling for cover, but both their shirts were across the room, and now that Bill had moved she was exposed, and there wasn't an afghan or a rug or a freaking throw pillow to hide behind, and Merlin, how had she let this happen?

()()()()

Bill wanted to punch something. The wall, his brother, anything would do. "Amy, I'm sorry. I didn't hear him come in, I swear."

She was kneeling on the floor, jerking his shirt over her head, but she hadn't taken the time to straighten it out and her head was caught in the sleeve.

"Here, let me help—"

She swung wildly. "No! Don't touch me!"

Shit. She was crying.

"Amy, please, let me—"

"No." She had got the shirt over her head. "Just leave me alone." One arm, then two, and she pulled it down her torso and flipped her hair out.

"I'm sorry, I really didn't—"

"Shut up, Bill, just shut up!" Tears were still falling as she snatched her bra from the corner of the table. She shoved it in her handbag, then inexplicably turned the bag upside down and shook it, rifling through the contents with shaking hands. "I want my key."

"What?"

"My key. Your key to my apartment. I want it back."

He felt sick— not like this, she could not end it like this. "Amy, please—"

"Just get me the damn key!"

She was wrestling with her own keys now, pulling the key and ring in opposite directions, but when Charlie stepped forward to take it from her, she smacked his hand away.

"Wand, dammit, where's my wand?"

Her loose hair was falling in her face, and she kept trying to shake it back, but strands stuck to her wet cheeks. Her wand was in the pile of receipts and tissues and girly stuff in front of her, but neither Bill nor Charlie pointed this out.

"Where is the key, Bill?"

Charlie's quiet question drew Bill's attention away from Amy, and he went to his bedroom to get her key off his ring. He hardly needed a Muggle key to enter her flat— he was a bloody curse breaker— but they had swapped keys before they had started sleeping together and kept them after they had broken up. Those keys were a symbol of their friendship, minus the complicated part, and he didn't want to give that up. Why had he just now realized how much he didn't want to give that up?

Amy had found her wand and cut his key off with a reckless Severing Charm that nearly caught her foot, causing Charlie to jump out of the way. Bill held out her key, but instead of taking it from his hand, she Summoned it wordlessly, and something about that rubbed him the wrong way.

"Oh, now you're afraid to touch me?"

She sniffed, piling everything back in her handbag.

"Answer me, dammit!"

Amy turned, flinging that glorious mane behind her back and taking the time to peel the sticky strands off her face. "Tell me again, Bill, because I've obviously forgotten. Fill Charlie in, here." She waved her hand in Charlie's direction without looking at him. "Tell me how beautiful I am, but you don't want to be anything more than friends. How we can have sex occasionally, as long as I don't think it means something more. Tell me how you're not interested in a serious relationship right now, and if I am, I should look somewhere else. But most of all, tell me how I've been so incredibly stupid, so I can be sure to never, ever, do this again."

Somehow Bill's words sounded much worse coming out of Amy's mouth. They sounded like he didn't care about her, and that wasn't true. He just didn't want. . . .

"You've told me every other time. What's so different about this one?" Into her handbag went her hairbrush, chewing gum, a bag of makeup. "It's no big deal, it doesn't mean anything, right?" In went sunglasses, keys, and what looked like a couple of tampons. "I came over because you said you needed my help with Ginny." A stray earring, Muggle pens, the white bra. "I stayed because you said 'just chess.' " A worn Cairo street map, two bottles of potion, her purse. "I'm leaving because this isn't even friendship."

Shit. She was in love with him.

()()()()

The silence in Bill's flat swelled to painful proportions, and still he didn't look at Charlie. They both just stood there, staring at the spot where Amy had Disapparated.

"You son of a bitch." The quiet venom was worse than yelling. "You used Ginny to get her over here?"

"I did need her help."

"You couldn't have had that conversation tomorrow, at work?"

It hadn't occurred to Bill. He had wanted to spend time with Amy, to see if Ginny said anything to her about last year, and— well, just to see her. Alone, without having to compete with his brothers for her attention. He missed her.

"You are damned lucky Amy doesn't have any brothers. Because if anybody— anybody— ever messes Ginny around the way you have done that witch, I'll kill him."

"I didn't know. I didn't know that was how she felt, I swear."

"Sometimes, Bill, you're so damned arrogant it makes me sick."

Charlie slammed the door behind him, but it was Lindsay's words in his sister's voice that echoed in Bill's ears.

You can run away to Egypt if you like, Bill Weasley, but you'll still be a stuck- up, know- it- all prat who cares more about his résumé than people.