Here's a change in the POV. Hope it's clear enough :) Here, feelings become known and a lot more complicated. Enjoy the drama, everybody!
George awoke early on the morning of the Quidditch match by the twisting of his own stomach. He was sure he couldn't be nearly as nervous as ickle Ronnie was, but Quidditch could do that to you; the evening before you'd be feeling great about the upcoming match, and in the coming hours before actually getting on the broomstick your nerves would be jumping around inside of you like it was your first time ever playing. Propping himself up on his elbows and rubbing away the goo from his eyes, George let himself adjust to the dim morning light, his brother's snores echoing loudly throughout the room. He had always been an early riser, but that morning he seemed to have awoken at the crack of dawn, before all else had roused from their nightly slumbers.
Deciding that he wouldn't risk sleeping in or waste any time tossing and turning in bed, he swung his legs over the edge of his bed and yawned widely as he pulled on a pair of socks, all while calling to Fred.
"Oi, wake up, you tubby ginger." he muttered into his ear, shaking his shoulder violently. "Let's go somewhere,"
"How about you go shove it," came Fred's muffled voice as he burrowed his face further into his pillow.
"Touchy," George said with a grin, pulling on a pair of jeans and his Weasley jumper. "I'll let you have your beauty sleep, then; Merlin knows you need it."
It was hard to miss Fred's nasty spitfire of cusses as George slipped out of the dorm, still grinning ear-to-ear. Fred never was one for the mornings.
The common room was deserted apart from a third year that had fallen asleep at a desk, her face squashed up against her Potions textbook. George snatched a quilt off of one of the couches by the hearth and wrapped it around her shoulders as he turned to leave the common room, wondering to himself if the Great Hall even served breakfast at five o'clock in the morning; he was craving pancakes with a raspberry jam glaze.
The castle had an eerie silence to it, and he was accompanied only with the sound of the portrait's snores as he made his way down the marble staircase alone. It reminded him of the long nights he'd spend exploring the castle with Fred, though now there was a feeling of freedom accompanied with the quiet, cool darkness.
As he came to the end of the staircase he halted, hearing the first sign of human life since he had left his dormitory just around the corner.
"The price of greatness is responsibility, my dear. I feel far too many of we Slytherins forget that part." came a low, pompous sort of voice from around the bend. "And far too many define greatness as something it is not."
"Like wealth," came another, very familiar voice. "And fame. But anyone can acquire that, can't they, Baron? It's our integrity that makes us, as humans, great, isn't it? And our respect for each other?"
"Very clever, Miss Brimstone," the Baron sounded impressed.
"About to sign up for your philosophy class?" George said as he came up behind Nina and clapped a hand on her shoulder, making her jump.
"GUAH!" she squeaked, clutching her chest. "O-oh, it's just you... you scared me."
"Don't tell me Slytherins have got respect for other people, now," George said to a very offended-looking Bloody Baron. "Next you'll be trying to convince me that Snape is playing Father Christmas at a children's home this year."
"I'd expect no less from a depthless Gryffindor like yourself," the Baron sneered. "All you lot have is a knack for running straight off a cliff like a herd of cattle. Now," He gathered up his bloodied chains and turned away from George, looking scandalized. "If you'll excuse me. Good day to you,"
George and Nina stared after him, blinking, before George burst into a fit of laughter.
"Don't laugh!" Nina said haughtily. "You really hurt his feelings!"
"Ohhh, come on, Nina," George said, his laughter starting to die down. "It's true. You've got a nasty lot."
"So have you," she said stubbornly, crossing her arms. "I wish you'd stop thinking we're all the bad guys."
There was a silence between them in which Nina refused to look at him, instead staring fixatedly at her shoes.
"I'm sorry."
"I-It's fine." she muttered, turning away from him. "Well... bye,"
"I'm not just talking about now, you know."
She turned back to him, surprised. "Huh?"
George grinned.
"Since we're both up early, why don't we go and play a game of chess?"
"Oh. Well..."
"Come on, Nina. Do you really hate me that much?"
"N-no! Of course not! It's just..." her face suddenly turned very red. "I don't know how to play."
George sighed. "You really are hopeless, you know. At least eat breakfast with me."
Nina followed him into the nearly abandoned Great Hall, which would have been completely deserted if it weren't for a handful of students and a teacher or two at the head table.
"Why are you up so early?" Nina asked him.
"Me? I dunno. I can't really sleep past nine-thirty in the morning. But then there's Fred, who slept for twenty-five hours one time. Besides," He sat down at the Gryffindor table with her, and was pleasantly surprised to find a pile of buttered pancakes lying on a plate near him. "I can never keep my eyes shut on game day."
"Ohhh, me too!" Nina said excitedly, her eyes lighting up. "I'm always so afraid I'll sleep in! And then I have so many nightmares about walking onto the pitch halfway through the game that I can barely sleep."
"Seriously? I had that dream just last night!" George breathed.
"Maybe it's some kind of bonkers Quidditch telekinesis," Nina giggled.
"Hey, Nina?"
"Yeah?"
George stared at her smiling, oblivious face for a second in silence. The way her face glowed when she was happy was enough to warm anybody's heart. She was so quiet, and yet so loyal, and far too easy to embarrass.
"You're actually kind of cute, you know."
Almost immediately, Nina's smile slid from existence and was replaced with a shocked, almost horrified look as her wide, dark eyes stared at him in disbelief. And then, as if on cue, her cheeks were suddenly glowing pink.
"Y-you... I mean—thanks..." she stuttered, tucking a piece of dark hair behind her ear.
Yeah, definitely too easy to embarrass.
"Don't tell me you're actually blushing. We're enemies now, remember?"
"Only on the field." she whispered.
"Right," George grinned again. "Man, we haven't played against each other in ages."
"Yeah..."
"Hey," he told her gently, leaning over the table slightly. "You know I'm always here for you. If you need a shoulder to cry on after losing today, you came always come to me."
Nina's face contracted suddenly, her eyes narrowing at him disapprovingly, much how Hermione would look at him whenever he and Fred tried to test their products on first years.
"Don't make me laugh," she said in a dangerous voice, all of a sudden. "I haven't been training my boys every day for the past month, rain or shine, for nothing."
"What d'you mean 'everyday'?" George asked, bewildered. "You can't train at the pitch when another team is there."
"If the pitch is taken, then we take a courtyard." she growled. "If the courtyard is taken, then we practice throws and study game plans in the common room. And if not there, then a classroom, or a hallway, or a bloody bathroom, if we have to," She slammed her hands onto the table and George recoiled in surprise, his forkful of pancake tumbling onto his jeans. Her attitude had changed lightening quick, and everything about her stance suggested an aggressive approach, as though she were challenging him to a fight. "It doesn't matter. I've trained them to midnight and beyond, and I've trained them hard."
"N-Nina?" George blinked. "Are you feeling okay? You're looking kind of... terrifying."
"Good." she barked. "Hear me now, Gryffindor: today, I don't care who you are or what past we've had together. We. Will. Obliterate. You."
"Does winning really mean that much to you?" he asked seriously.
She quieted and turned away from him determinedly, though he thought he saw her expression soften a little.
"I... I made a promise to myself last night." she muttered, and for a moment George wasn't sure if she was talking to him, or herself.
"What... kind of promise?" he asked tentatively.
She glanced up at him, then back at the table, and sighed, as though exhausted. "To not fall for idiots,"
As she got up to leave, George quickly snatched her wrist, knocking over a milk jug in the process and its contents pouring all over his lap.
"Wait—gah! Damn it... hold up!"
He released her as the milk splashed all over him, and she had taken the chance to hurry over to the exit of the Great Hall. He stumbled after her, feverishly trying to air-dry his doused hands. "Nina! Oi, don't ignore me!"
"Why not?" he heard her haughty mutter as he drew closer to her. "It's all you've done to me since last year."
As she made for the stairway that led to the dungeons, George quickly stepped in front of her, blocking her way. "That's not fair, Nina. I didn't even realize you liked me that way until a couple of weeks ago!"
"Then you're too thick for your own good!" she said angrily, her voice rising. As she tried to move around him, he side-stepped to keep up with her; he still didn't understand why she was angry with him.
"Why are you so pissed at me?"
Nina was starting to look not only frustrated, but tearful. "Just move!" she hissed, her voice trembling.
"If you're gonna cry, then do it," George said. "Just tell me—"
"Figure it out yourself, idiot!" Her tears were evident now, and as she blinked they streaked down the sides of her face. George's head was whirling; how had they gone from Quidditch to this? And why was she so distraught when he hadn't even rejected her outright?
As she finally shoved her way past him, he, too, felt a surge of anger swell up inside of him. "Women." he growled, quite audibly.
Nina's footsteps against the stone stairwell immediately ceased.
"Women?" he heard her say venomously. "Women?!" She rounded on him fiercely, a new fire blazing in her chestnut eyes. "More like men! Women aren't the ones who tell you you're 'like a sister' one day and then you're 'cute' the next... women aren't the ones giving you bits of hope day by day, only to go and snog pretty girls like Cecilia in a corner somewhere!"
"If you hate me, then just say it!" He and Nina were having a shouting match now, though nobody but a couple of mice and ghosts were around to hear it. "Go on!"
Nina stared at him for a few moments in astonished silence, her eyes sparkling with tears. "Hate you?" Her voice had dropped down to a whisper. She took a step backwards, away from him. "I love you, George."
Another drought of sound washed over them, but George found the silence just as deafening as the loudest of screams.
"W-what?"
Nina took another step backwards, down the steps. George remained motionless.
"I guess that makes me the biggest idiot here, huh?" she breathed, chuckling shakily. "I'll see you on the pitch, Gryffindor."
"Wait," he called. "Nina,"
"Oh yeah," she said over her shoulder as she continued down the steps. "The song wasn't my idea, by the way,"
And then, feeling more confused and conflicted than ever, he watched her disappear around a bend, milk still dripping from his sweater.
Nina stood before the change room doors that led to the open field of the stadium with Nora, Blaise, Draco, and the rest of the Slytherin team, broomstick in hand and a newfound terror rushing through her veins.
"Welp."
"This is it."
"Yup."
Nina remained silent, her hands trembling slightly as she gripped her broom handle. The temptation to fly into the mountains and never come back was proving to be near overwhelming for her. Not only would everyone blame her if Slytherin lost today, but she'd be facing off with George and the rest of the Gryffindor team, all of whom were elites, with mere amateurs as her backup.
Clearly, though, she was on different wavelengths than the rest of her team.
"Hey, you've got a little something here," Blaise said, indicating a spot on Draco's emerald Quidditch robes.
"Wha—?" As he quickly looked down, Blaise flicked up a finger and jabbed him in the eye. As Blaise smirked, Draco scowled at him.
"You're an idiot, you know that?" Draco growled, wrinkling Blaise's uniform in return.
"Hey, hey! This is very expensive material!"
"You're such a girl, Zabini."
"You look like one, too," Blaise snapped.
"Ladies, ladies," Flint said, coming up from behind them and clapping his hands onto their shoulders. "Now's not the time to be having your periods everywhere, we've got a game to play."
"That's disgusting, mate." said their Keeper, Montague, from the back; he was even huger than Crabbe and Goyle. Despite his size, he had a very soft voice, and gentle personality.
"You're disgusting," Flint retorted, frowning.
Nina felt a sharp jab in her side, and noticed Nora's raised brows as she indicated the team with a jerk of her head.
"O-oh, right. Hey, you guys, listen..." she began, only to be cut off quickly by more bickering.
"Can you stop touching me? He's touching me." Draco complained loudly, indicating Flint with his thumb.
"You know you like it," Flint snickered.
Nina groaned. She didn't envy Mrs Weasley at all; teenage boys were really something else.
"Okay!" she raised her voice. "You guys, seriously—"
But still, the boys continued squabbling with each other.
"HEY!" Nora barked. "SHUT THE HELL UP, YOU LOT."
Each of the team members halted and stared, wide eyed, at Nora, who was looking immensely satisfied.
"Thanks," Nina grinned at her. "Okay, boys, today's the big day: the day we pummel Gryffindor into the dirt!"
Amidst the rumbling cheers that came from Crabbe, Goyle, Flint and Nora, Montague voiced, "Is she even supposed to be here?"
"Yeah, Boone, you're not even on the team." Flint said, realization suddenly dawning on him.
"She's our secret weapon." Draco said cheerfully. "Haven't we told you? It was all my idea."
"As much as I don't like your antics, Draco, I have to admit that this little scheme of yours might be a good match for Gryffindor." Nina said.
"What exactly am I missing here?" Flint asked.
Nora grinned, and reached deep into her cloak pocket, pulling out a fat, brown straw doll that she had gifted to Nina a few months earlier. "Got it in Hawaii; it's a Voodoo doll. Nina's been kind enough to let me use it here."
"Brilliant." Blaise said, in awe; he was looking at Nora with deep admiration. "Sneaky as hell... I like it."
Flint was looking from Nora, to Blaise, to Draco, to Nina, appearing to be very confused. "I still don't get it."
"We're going to use this on Potter, dumbass." Malfoy said impatiently. "God, no wonder you're repeating a grade."
"Nora will keep under the bleachers and watch Potter's every move." Nina said, a devious tinge to her voice. "If he's about to grab the Snitch, or trying to pull off some fancy move, he might—"
"—accidentally—"
"—mess up. Or have the Snitch slip out of his fingers; something inconspicuous like that," Nina grinned.
"This is unlike you, Brimstone." Montague noted. "Have you been getting enough sleep?"
"Sleep is for losers." she muttered darkly.
"Well, aren't you just a ball of sunshine?" Flint said.
"I don't know, I kind of like her better this way," said Draco, grinning. "What's your deal, anyway? A couple of weeks ago you'd be all like, 'ooooh, we musn't cheat! We musn't endanger my precious Weasleys!'"
Nina glared at him, and he shrivelled slightly under her gaze. "If they want to be my enemy on the field, then I'll keep my end of the bargain. There's no way..." She curled her hands into fists. "... no way I'm going to lose to them... to him..."
As Blaise turned to Nora with his eyebrows raised, she simply shrugged her shoulders. "Never piss off a heartbroken woman," she muttered before leaving to take her position in the bleachers.
"Now," Nina looked up into the faces of her team members, all of whom returned her impish grin. "Who's the most double-crossing, evil, snot-rag group of Quidditch players in all of Hogwarts?"
"WE ARE!" her team boomed enthusiastically.
"And are we going to lose to a bunch of lame, fair-playing Gryffindors?"
"HELL NO!"
"And is that Cup ours?"
"HELL YES!"
"So then let's DESTROY those bird brains!"
Her entire team burst into deafening cheers as they streaked out of the change room and onto the field, Malfoy and Nina in the lead. They were greeted with a roar of sound; an odd mixture of cheers and whistles from their supporters, jeers and boos from their rivals, and singing that could be heard from the Slytherins alone.
In the center of the field, the Gryffindors were waiting for them, all of them wearing rather disdainful expressions (apart from the new Keeper, Ron Weasley, who was looking anything but confident). The Slytherin danced and fist-pumped their way to the Gryffindors, and Blaise twirled Nina so that she sloppily ended up before the opposing team's captain, Angelina Johnson, who couldn't help but roll her eyes. She noticed Harry Potter eyeing Draco with great dislike, and watched the twins exchange confused looks.
"Captains, shake hands," ordered Madame Hooch.
Nina and Angelina stepped up to each other and commenced the bone-crushing handshake, though neither of them dared flinch. "Mount your brooms..."
Madam Hooch's whistle pierced the crisp air and the two teams shot upwards as the balls were released, and Nina grappled with it momentarily with Katie Bell before coming out the winner. As she made for the Gryffindor hoops, the Quaffle clutched under her arm, she noticed Crabbe directing a Bludger at Ron Weasley to momentarily knock him off course, hopefully to buy her some time to score a goal. It worked, and Nina thrust the Quaffle at Flint, who caught it flawlessly and tossed it towards one of the hoops, only for it to bounce right off the rim.
"—and that's the first shot of the game, thrown by the Marcus Flint of the Slytherin team, with a nice throw from Brimstone. Flint catches the rebound, and it's back to Brimstone, back to Flint, and—oh! Nice steal from Angelina Johnson, right out of new Chaser Blaise Zabini's hands. And off she goes, Johnson—what a player that girl is, I've been saying it for years and she still won't go out with me—"
"JORDAN!" yelled Professor McGonagall.
"—just a fun fact, Professor, adds a bit of interest. Now it's Spinnet of Gryffindor with the Quaffle, who takes a shot at Slytherin's hoops—and she scores! That makes ten—nothing for Gryffindor, that's ten—nil.
Bad luck, that's all, Nina thought as she swooped down on Katie Bell, snatching away her pass to Johnson and thrusting it towards Blaise, who sped towards the opposite end of the pitch. As she sped up to keep up with him, she watched as the Quaffle rocketed between Marcus and Flint, confusing Ron. As Blaise faked a final throw into one of the hoops, Nina swooped underneath Blaise and caught the Quaffle, thrusting it into an untended hoop and scoring Slytherin ten points.
"—and Nina Brimstone makes the score even with a sneak attack on Gryffindor's new Keeper—couldn't have seen that one coming, Ron, next time for sure. And now it's Katie Bell with the Quaffle, and now it's Alicia Spinnet, and—OH! A nice Bludger from Fred Weasley—or is it George?—but it's headed right for—uh-oh."
Intuitively, Nina flattened herself on her broom, and felt a surge of splitting air rocket over where her head had been just seconds before. Were those idiots trying to get her killed? Or did George really hate her so much that he was trying to hit her...?
"NINA!"
She raised her catching arm just in time, but it was to no avail as the Quaffle Blaise had passed her slipped from her fingers and into Spinnet's grasp below.
"Sorry!" she cried. "Sorry, I'll focus!"
Flint hastily stole the Quaffle and sped towards Ron, passed to Nina, and she threw it to Blaise, who raised his arm to take the finishing blow.
In the stands, a song could be heard coming from the Slytherins, and Nina knew all too well what its lyrics were.
"Weasley cannot save a thing,
He cannot block a single ring,
That's why all Slytherins sing:
Weasley is our King.
"Weasley was born in a bin,
He always lets the Quaffle in,
Weasley will make sure we win,
Weasley is our King."
"—and—and it's twenty—ten to Slytherin, scored by Blaise Zabini." bellowed Lee, trying feverishly to raise his voice above the bellowing Slytherins. "Katie Bell back in possession and—OH! Hit by a nasty Bludger from Goyle of Slytherin, now it's Brimstone in possession, she passes to Zabini, who passes back to her... and Slytherin scores again, that's thirty—ten to Slytherin, scored by Brimstone."
As Lee's commentary continued and the Gryffindor Keeper continued to repeatedly screw up, the Slytherins' chant boomed throughout the stadium with clarity.
"WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN,
HE ALWAYS LETS THE QUAFFLE IN,"
Fred and George weren't going to like this, she thought, as she scored yet another goal for her team. She knew that once Draco had set his heart on it and started passing out lyrics, it was useless to try and deter him. She didn't like the song; she refused to wear the custom badge Malfoy made for the Slytherin supporters. Still, maybe she should have tried harder to stop them; she supposed she was no better than a common bully, now. Merlin, what had happened to her? She felt like she had lost herself in all this drama.
She watched as Flint scored a goal smoothly and set out on Johnson, who was back in possession. As she made to follow, however, she was momentarily flummoxed by two figures, one green and the other red, flying past her at such a speed that they were mere blurs against the overcast sky; Harry and Draco, clearly after the Golden Snitch.
Suddenly, the rest of the game didn't seem to matter. She caught the Quaffle just barely and tossed it to Flint, who was skirting off somewhere in the corner of her eye, and eagerly watched the Seekers, who were now neck-and-neck... the Slytherins couldn't have been louder at that moment.
"WEASLEY WILL MAKE SURE WE WIN,
WEASLEY IS OUR KING!
WEASLEY IS OUR KING!"
The Seekers were grappling for the snitch together, both of their arms outstretched... Nina watched as Harry's right arm flailed wildly—Nora's handiwork, no doubt—but it was to no avail; even with the opportunity to grasp the Snitch, Malfoy missed his shot and Harry caught the it with his left hand, and the game was over...
Somewhere close by came a shout of rage, and she watched as Crabbe took out his fury on a nearby Bludger, sending it flying towards Harry. Before she could protest, the metal ball had hit Harry in the small of his back and sent him flying off of his broom, and suddenly the Gryffindors in the stands were sounding mutinous as Madame Hooch's whistle pierced the air yet again.
"CRABBE!" Nina shouted. "CRABBE, YOU IDIOT!"
He looked only slightly flustered as he sunk to the field, Nina following closely. On the ground, the Gryffindors were landing one by one, all of them embracing Harry tightly and ruffling his hair. Nearby, she noticed, Draco had landed.
Not good, she thought, dismounting her broom and leading Crabbe to Madame Hooch, who promptly began reprimanding him.
"I don't know what your captain's been training you for," Hooch seethed. "But hitting a player with a Bludger after the game's finished is not how we play here,"
"It won't happen again," Nina assured her, shooting a disgusted look at Crabbe. Only slightly beyond, she could see what looked like the beginning of a confrontation. She could hear Malfoy's faint voice carrying across the field, and her heart sank with dread as she watched Angelina struggle to pull Fred back from launching himself at Malfoy.
"—we couldn't fit in useless loser, either—for their father, you know—"
"Oh, no," she muttered, abandoning Madame Hooch and Crabbe and bolting towards them. "Malfoy! Stop!"
She may as well have tried to yell to somebody in China—whether they couldn't hear her or were ignoring her, she would never know. Malfoy refused to shut his mouth either way.
"—but you like the Weasleys, don't you, Potter? Spend the holidays there and everything, don't you? Can't imagine how you can stand the stink—"
To her immense relief, Harry and George were both thinking better of the situation and were turning away from him and starting towards the change rooms. Fred, however, still had to be held back by his team mates to prevent him from pounding Malfoy into mince. She was only twenty or so feet away from them now, and she could deal with Malfoy properly when she reached him...
"Or perhaps," Malfoy continued, leering at them. "You can remember what your mother's house stank like, Potter, and Weasley's pigsty reminds you of it—"
Even before it happened, she knew that was it for Malfoy. It had happened in an instant, and it was Harry to leap on him first, followed quickly by George. She was only a few feet away from them when she screamed in desperation, begging them to stop. Despite being afraid of having a punch thrown at her, she wrapped her arms around George's stomach and pulled with all of her might, though he did not immediately abandon his attempts to try and break every bone in Malfoy's body.
"George! GEORGE! Please stop!" she screamed, finally pulling him off completely. As he made for Malfoy again, she rounded on him and pushed against his chest, blocking his way.
"Move it," he barked at her, trying to brush her off without hurting her. "Move so I can pound his fuckin' skull in—"
"George!"
Then he did exactly what he seemed to be trying to avoid at all costs; he looked at her. She wasn't sure exactly what he saw in her eyes, but whatever it was made his back away from Malfoy, even if it was begrudgingly. He was still seething and leering at the groaning, crippled Malfoy; Harry was panting on the frosty grass close by, Madame Hooch having thrown him off magically.
"What do you think you're doing?" Madame Hooch screamed, her hawk-like eyes grazing over them angrily. "I've never seen behaviour like it—back up to the castle, both of you, and straight to your Head of House's office. Go! Now!"
As George turned swiftly and accompanied Harry to the castle, Nina called after him, but he didn't look back. She watched his retreating figure, her heart still pounding, and dropped to her knees beside the whimpering, curled up Malfoy. If this were the price of being enemies on the field, she thought, she'd rather never mount a broomstick for the rest of her life than go through it again.