If Harry was being honest, he really only had sided with Ron to cheer for Bulgaria because he hadn't wanted him to feel left out while everyone else in the tent was rooting for Ireland. Based off what Fred and George had been talking about all day and the bets they'd placed on Ireland winning, it was clear they had a better shot. They had better moves, better teamwork - Bulgaria had stronger players, but Ireland worked better together, which was what Quidditch was all about when it came down to it.

They'd predicted that Krum would catch the Snitch, but Ireland would win, which was an astounding prospect for him. He'd never seen a Quidditch game like that. He'd always caught the Snitch and won the game, and it wasn't a very common thing to happen, so he hoped they were right.

Even Hermione, who had never been interested in the mechanics of the game, had been asking questions about different formations and technicalities. Fred and George were sitting at the table, painting each other's faces, when Hermione had decided she wanted to learn more. "Well, I've been re-reading Quidditch Through the Ages over the summer and-"

"Wait." That had gotten Harry's attention. He'd been listening to Ron argue across the room with Fred and George about how Krum wouldn't wait until Ireland was up enough to catch the Snitch when Harry heard Hermione's words. "You've been reading Quidditch Through the Ages?"

"Well, of course!" she turned, looking at him with a grin. "I didn't want to be completely out of the loop. I mean, I kind of skimmed through it in first year, you know, but actually reading it in detail is very interesting. Did you know that the modern Quaffle is known as a Pennifold Quaffle because of Daisy Pennifold, who charmed the Quaffle to fall slower to the ground than a regular ball? Otherwise it would hit the ground way too fast and be too dangerous for the Chasers to dive after it. There were loads fewer injuries."

Harry was speechless for a moment. She willingly read - no, studied - a book about Quidditch before she came to the match so she'd know more about the game? She'd never done that for any of his games. She'd been there at every one to cheer him on, but she hadn't seemed to be interested until Ron invited her to the World Cup. "Why?"

"Why what?"

The tent fell silent. Fred and George were looking at each other like they were waiting for something to happen, Ron had stilled, and Ginny poked her head out of the bedroom.

Harry looked around the room, not wanting to cause an issue right before the game, and he hadn't even been hostile. What were they expecting him to say?

"I just... didn't think that you were that interested in Quidditch, that's all," he said simply.

"Well, I came to this game, didn't I?"

Harry was tempted to glance at Ron, but didn't want to bring him into it. "Yes."

"So obviously I am. And I've been to all of your games."

"Yeah, but-"

"Is it so wrong to research things your best friend is interested in?"

"No."

"So what's the problem?"

"It's just weird to hear you talking about it."

Suddenly, Hermione frowned, becoming very concerned. "In a bad way?"

"What?" Harry was taken aback. "No, not at all. A good way." Then, he looked at Ron, who just shrugged. Hermione had turned back around to look at Fred and George, but she seemed relieved as she continued the conversation. Harry figured it would be best to keep quiet.

A little while later, once everyone was dressed in their silly scarves and hats, Hermione caught Harry as they were about to head out. She grabbed his hand, but quickly let go. "Wait! Can you... I think I want my face painted."

"Really?" he asked, fighting back a laugh, but turning back into the tent. "Why didn't you ask Fred and George while they were doing theirs?"

"I... I don't know - them being that close feels weird. Their... hands on my face and all that. I just... would rather have someone I'm more comfortable with."

Harry swallowed. He'd have to touch her face. Right. Why did that make him nervous?

Noticing their absence, Ron stuck his head back into the tent. "Are you two coming?" he asked.

"Just a minute," Hermione called. "I want to grab a couple things. You go on ahead. We'll catch up."

Harry's mind dove so far into the gutter at her words, but he managed to pull it back out. Keep it together, Harry. You can't think about her like that. Gross. No, it certainly wasn't gross. Snap out of it.

Luckily, Hermione didn't seem to notice his internal struggle. Either that, or she didn't say anything. She moved to the table where Fred and George had left the paint and sat down on one side, patting the spot in front of her. "Come on, Harry."

Then they were both straddling the bench, looking at each other, and Harry quickly wiped his hands on his pants. He wasn't about to be able to hold a paintbrush with sweaty hands. "So... what do you want?"

"Not my whole face," she laughed. "Maybe just a flag?"

"On your forehead?" Harry teased.

"No! On my cheek!" Hermione grinned and turned her face.

"Fine," he smirked. Harry opened the container of green paint and dipped the paintbrush in carefully before holding it up near Hermione's face. "Are you sure you want me to do this, Hermione? You've seen my handwriting."

"Yes, Harry, I'm sure," she insisted. "It doesn't have to be perfect."

"Coming from you? That's a shock."

"Because you're the one doing it," Hermione smirked. "I'm taking your skill into account."

Harry couldn't help but laugh, but his smile faded a little bit as he carefully put one hand on her jaw to steady himself. If he hadn't been trying to focus completely on her cheek, he would have seen her eyes glance down to his lips, her breath hitching as gentle fingers touched her face.

At the first swipe of green paint, Hermione let out a giggle, and Harry finally looked up at her eyes, which were wide and bright and beautiful now that he was so close to them.

"It's cold," she whispered. "Tickles."

"O-Oh. Sorry..."

"It's okay. Keep going."

Harry swallowed thickly, leaving a small space underneath the green for the white stripe like George had before putting another green one. She didn't squirm nearly as much, maybe since she was expecting it. He could see her staring at him out of the corner of his eye, and tried not to get shaky again. It was almost a relief when he pulled away and moved his hand to wipe off the paintbrush. "So, er... you really wanted to come to the match?"

"Of course I did, Harry," she replied, a little breathless and flushed. "Why are you so insistent that I didn't?"

"Well, I just want to make sure you're going to have a good time, that's all. I know... I know you enjoy coming to the games but this is like... going to a school football game versus going to a FIFA game. It's a completely different atmosphere. Everything's more intense and I didn't think it would quite be your kind of event."

"I know. But I also know I'm in good company."

"With Ron?" he asked, trying to sound casual. He dipped the brush in the white paint and his hand took its place on Hermione's jaw again as he swiped a white stripe between the green ones. Hermione didn't speak while Harry worked, waiting for him to be done so he didn't mess it up. But the wait was agonizing. Finally, he moved the brush away again to clean it off.

"With you."

Harry's eyes shot up to Hermione's. The green on her cheek looked amazing in contrast with the brown of her eyes, and the green and white scarf around her neck was making him have visions of her in Slytherin. But even if she was in Slytherin, she'd still be beautiful. Beautiful. How had he never noticed it before? The shy smile she gave him released a flutter of butterflies in his stomach and suddenly, he wasn't sure if he was even interested in Quidditch anymore. This seemed to be a much better way to spend the evening. But that's not what he said.

"We should... probably get going, yeah?" He made sure to return her smile, though, so she didn't think he'd missed her words.

"Right, yes... probably. How's it look?"

"Pretty good, actually. I mean, it's just three stripes. Not hard to mess up."

Hermione quickly got up and crossed the tent to one of the mirrors. Had she been blushing that much the whole time? Her hand reached up to touch the place Harry's hand had been, but she played it off as an itch. "It's perfect. Thank you, Harry. Do you really think Bulgaria's going to win?"

"No," Harry laughed. "Not that I know a ton of their players, but Krum's the most famous one, and he's the seeker. There's so much more that has to go into a good game than just the seeker."

"Coming from you?" she smirked and turned to look at him again.

"Oh, please. I enjoy being the seeker because I get to watch the game for a little bit, at least."

"That's what you're always floating around for? I thought you were actually playing."

Harry shook his head and grabbed their binoculars. "Guess you don't know that much about Quidditch after all. It doesn't take me that long to catch the Snitch once I see it. Wood's told me to hold off before."

"Does that confidence work on everyone?" Hermione asked as they headed out of the tent.

"Is it working on you?"

Hermione paused for a moment, letting out a breath. "Maybe… I think I want to make a bet, too."

"Yeah?" Harry raised an eyebrow. It wasn't very difficult to find the way to the stadium, as all they had to do was follow the sea of people, but it was crowded, and Hermione's hand quickly found his so they wouldn't lose each other. He looked down to their hands, then back up at her. "Wh-What's the bet?"

"If Ireland wins… you have to buy me an ice cream at Florean Fortescue's when we go get our books."

It was Harry's turn to blush. That kind of sounded like a date. "Deal. And if Bulgaria wins?"

Hermione reddened further, squeezing his hand but avoiding his eyes. "If Bulgaria wins, it's my treat."

"So we're betting on ice cream?"

"What's wrong with that? Is there something else you'd rather bet on?" She was looking nervous again, as if she was worried she'd misread Harry's signals.

"Nothing's wrong with that. Can I add something on?"

"Sure."

"If Bulgaria wins, if you're okay with it…" He couldn't believe he was even going for it. Was he ready for this? With her? It would change things, for sure. But he kept thinking about her reaction when he touched her, how much she'd been blushing, how nervous she seemed to get when they were alone, and the butterflies she put in his stomach when she gave him that one specific smile that seemed to be only reserved for him. "I'd like to kiss you."

Hermione stopped walking, and Harry stopped with her, people gently pushing past them and around them. She turned to face him and looked down at his lips again. "Do you want to?"

"Yes. After the ice cream, of course. Don't want to get ahead of ourselves," he tried to tease, but the tension patted it down.

"Well, considering there's not much chance that Bulgaria will win, how about… if Ireland wins, you have to buy me ice cream and I'll let you know by the end of the date if I've decided whether or not you get to kiss me."

Harry's eyes widened briefly as he mentally started counting down the days until they went to Diagon Alley. "I… I think that's fair."

"Okay. Deal."

"Deal."

They didn't stop holding hands until they got to the stadium and met up with the others in the top row, glad the wind was blowing enough to keep their blushes from looking too obvious.

Either way, it didn't really sound like it mattered who won - they'd both end up with a good deal.