Chapter Text
“Utilitarianism is a meaningless philosophy! It can be used to justify anything.” Lily and Barty had been going at it for the past five minutes, arguing across the table while the rest of the class looked back and forth between them like they were watching a tennis match. Barty rolled his eyes as he leaned back in his chair.
“All philosophies have to be considered in the boundaries of the proposition though. Utilitarianism is the superior philosophy for most propositions.” He smirked, watching the way her eyes flashed the way they always did when they argued like this.
“If a philosophy can’t be valid in every situation it is inherently flawed. Take it to the extreme and it can be used to justify genocide.”
“But when I’m buying drinks for a party, I buy whatever is going to cause the greatest net positive” He was mostly trying to get on her nerves now, waiting for her to run her hands through her hair in exasperation the way she did whenever he made a particularly bullshit point to annoy her. Instead she raised an eyebrow and leaned across the table.
“So neat tequila, in your case?” It was her turn to smirk, and he opened his mouth to retort when the professor interrupted.
“Alright, thank you Miss Evans, Mr Crouch. Anyone else?” Someone else raised their hand, although Barty doubted they had anything even nearly as interesting to say as Lily, so he busied himself with staring at her instead.
Pale, freckled hands with long, ink stained fingers, hair the color of flames. He knew she noticed him staring, but she said nothing and barely spared him a glance, so he let his wander, from the shell of her ear down to her neck, perfect and smooth. He wanted to kiss the spot right where her jaw met her throat, he wanted to–
“Class dismissed. I’ll see you all next time.” Fuck. He stood up and slung his bag over his shoulder, catching up with Lily as she walked out of the room.
“Neat tequila? How’d you know?” He asked, and she rolled her eyes as she looked up at him.
“A hunch. You seem the type.”
“Oh? And what is ‘the type?’” He gestured loosely at himself, wanting to know what she had to say about him.
“Disastrous. You drink five monsters a day, think utilitarianism is a decent philosophy, and probably throw incredibly shitty house parties.”
“My parties are not shitty!” He gasped, holding one hand to his chest in horror.
“Really? That's the thing you're gonna latch on to? If all you're buying is tequila then it's bound to be shit.”
“Well what do you drink then? Gin? Rubbing alcohol, to fuel your cold, cruel soul?” He poked her arm, and her skin was soft beneath his fingertips.
“God no, I have taste.” She looked disgusted at the mere mention. “Wine.”
“Hmm. Well I’m having a party tomorrow, you should stop by. I'll buy a bottle of wine just for you.” He winked as they stepped outside. This was the part where they went their separate ways, but each time they lingered a little bit longer.
“I thought I was cold and cruel, why would you want me at your party?” She crossed her arms, looking up at him again. She was almost an entire foot shorter than him, but still seemed to occupy more space in his brain than anyone else he knew.
“I can’t help it that I like it when pretty girls are mean to me.” He smirked again, reveling in the way her eyes widened slightly before he turned and walked away.