"I just realized something," Italy said, suddenly.

Germany glanced up, looking annoyed. He was already, to put it bluntly, thoroughly pissed by the events of the entire day - and seeing that most of that day had been spent sitting through a World Conference, this was no surprise.

"What?" Germany ground out, his eyes flickering briefly back to the current speaker - America. Dear lord...there were idiots everywhere he turned.

"You're my best friend," Italy told him, interrupting his current angsty line of thought.

"So you've told me," Germany muttered.

"And I love Japan too!" Italy chirped, smiling widely. "He's my friend - and then there's my fratello too! But...he only loves me because he has to -"

"I don't fucking love you, bastard," Romano snapped from nearby.

Italy giggled. "Romano is so funny!" He sobered up. "And then...Spain is nice to me...and France too. But then, they're sort of like family, aren't they? Austria and Hungary too."

"Italy," Germany sighed. "Is there a point to this?"

"I'm just saying...I don't have many friends!" Italy's lower lip began to tremble; Germany was sure that if his eyes were actually opened, they'd probably be tearing up by now. "That's not very good, is it Germany?"

"It's fine Italy."

"No it's not!" Italy shook his head, vehemently. "It means there's something wrong with me -"

Romano snorted. "He's just figuring that out now?"

Germany silently agreed with the statement, although he knew that stating so out loud would do nothing but earn him a tirade of verbal abuse.

" - People don't want to be my friend!" Italy continued to wail. "No one loves me!"

Hungary, who had been sitting nearby and chatting cheerily with Poland, suddenly whipped around with surprising force, as if she had been waiting for this moment.

She narrowed her eyes, staring at Germany expectantly.

Germany stared back, blankly.

"Italy!" Hungary cried loudly, never removing her eyes from Germany. "Don't worry sweetie, I love you! You're too adorable not to love!"

"You have plenty of people who love you!" She continued, her eyes narrowing dangerously in Germany's direction.

Germany shifted in his chair uneasily, wondering what the hell was going on.

"Especially one person who is very important to you - isn't that right GERMANY?!"

Germany coughed. "...Yes."

"I can't hear you!"

"Yes, yes!" Germany snapped, dragging his eyes away from the crazed women. Dammit, couldn't there be one normal nation in the room other than himself?

Hungary beamed. "Excellent! I'm glad all that's cleared up!" She turned back to Poland and Germany could hear her giggling, "I am so going to be the one walking Italy down the isle!"

Germany grimaced and decided that no, he would always be surrounded by lunatics.

"Thank you, Germany!" Italy said, beaming at him widely. "I love you too!"

Germany shot a brief glare at Hungary's back.

"But...I think I need more friends!" Italy let out a loud sigh and stared imploringly at Germany. "Don't get me wrong - you're my best friend and I'll always love you with extra, extra love! But...I think I need to find some more friends!"

"Italy -"

" - In fact, I think I'll go out right now and find some!"

Germany paused at that. "...You're leaving?"

"Yes!" Italy beamed, widely. "Don't miss me too much though - I'll be right back!"

Germany's eyes widened. "Oh no," he said, hurriedly. "Don't worry at all! Take as much time as you need!"

Italy's smile grew wider. "Thank you Germany! You're such a kind and considerate friend!"

He pranced out of the room, still declaring his love for Germany as the door closed behind him.

Hungary giggled. "Oh I am so walking him down the isle - and he'll be wearing a wedding dress even if I have to force him into it!

...

Voldemort hurried away from the house he had just attacked, hiding his glee behind a mask of cold indifference. After all, he couldn't let his emotions slip - well, any emotion other than anger or malice. An angry Voldemort made people want to crap their pants - a happy Voldemort didn't. It was as simple as that.

It didn't matter either way - he may have been menacing on the outside, but on the inside he was simply dancing. It was like a little carnival going off in his head - and since it was in his head, no one would ever know.

(Voldemort was completely oblivious to the fact that right at that moment, Harry Potter was sitting on his bed and wondering why the hell he was feeling sudden bursts of happiness as his scar burned).

Voldemort had left his Death Eaters behind at the house of the latest family he'd slaughtered, to deal with the mess - after all, the fun was over. As the Dark Lord and future ruler of the universe, Voldemort was entitled to certain things.

"Stupid worthless muggles," he laughed (it was in a menacing voice, so it was alright). "I showed them! I, Lord Voldemort, shall wipe this Earth free of any and all Mudbloods...I shall rule over everything. I shall -"

"Ve...that's a pretty skull, don't you think?"

Voldemort blinked, staring at the man in front of him and wondering where the hell he had appeared from. His eyes drew over to the odd little curl sticking up from the mans head - it was slightly disconcerting.

"I like the way it glows," he giggled.

Voldemort followed his line of sight, his eyes landing on the Dark Mark glowing in the sky, which he'd placed over the latest house that he'd attacked.

"...You think the Dark Mark is pretty?" Voldemort repeated, his voice tinged with disbelief.

"Is that what it's called?" the man giggled again. "What a funny name! It even rhymes!"

Voldemort's eyes narrowed into slits. "You...you think the Dark Mark is funny?!" he spat.

"Ve - yes!" The man beamed, widely.

"Do you have any idea what it means?!" Voldemort snarled. "What it stands for?!"

"No I...wait!" The man's eyes widened. "Did you make it?! You did, didn't you?! Oh my...you're so talented!"

"I am wiping this earth clean of the influence of Mudbloods and other unworthy pieces of trash," Voldemort growled, menacingly.

The man continued to smile, much to Voldemort's frustration.

"Well, okay," he said. "I don't know what you said but it didn't sound too nice..." He shrugged. "You're a good artist though!"

Voldemort's eye twitched slightly.

"Could you teach me how to do that?" the man continued. "I mean, it's just floating there, in the sky! How does it do that?!"

Voldemort took a deep breath and, thinking calming thoughts (like the image of Potter tied to a stick with an apple in his mouth, and being roasted over an open fire) he reached into his cloak and pulled out his wand.

"Is it some kind of British paint? I'll bet it is!" The man nodded his head, enthusiastically. "British people are so weird, don't you think? The food, and now the paint -"

Voldemort pointed his wand.

" - It's like entering a whole different planet - ve, what are you doing with that stick?" The man frowned in confusion; then he suddenly beamed even wider than before (Voldemort hadn't thought that to be possible). "Oh - are you going to show me how you made the -"

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Voldemort watched in glee as the beloved green light whizzed towards it's bewildered target; he savored the moment, looking forward to the sound of the body dropping to the floor...

...Which never happened.

Voldemort stared blankly, wondering if he'd missed something.

"...You're still alive," he said, slowly. He frowned; he had to have missed something. Perhaps the spell hadn't hit it's target? Maybe? Perhaps?

"I don't see any skulls anywhere," the man said, frowning. "I don't think it worked properly."

No that couldn't be right. His aim, as usual, had been perfect. There was no way he could have missed!

...So how was he still alive?

"You...you...huh?!" Voldemort felt his hands clenching into fists. "WHY AREN'T YOU DEAD?!"

"Yes - I really don't think it - wait!" The man's eyes widened. "Whose dead?!"

"You...you aren't dead."

The man giggled. "Well of course not, silly!"

What...how. How the hell had - why was - how - Voldemort continued to stare at the man in front of him, wondering if he was losing his mind. No - no he was the great Lord Voldemort! He couldn't lose his mind - it was one those rare things that he had that Dumbledore didn't!

No...he wasn't losing his mind. It just wasn't possible. Which meant...the man in front of him had survived the killing curse.

While a part of Voldemort screamed, "holy shit, not another Potter!" another part of him rubbed it's hands deviously, acknowledging the advantages of it. If this man had a method of overcoming death, then Voldemort wanted to know.

"You're coming with me!" he snarled, striding forward.

The man frowned slightly, looking uncertain. "Well...I have ot get back soon or else Ger - er, my friend will get worried -"

Ignoring him, Voldemort grabbed onto his arm.

"...But I guess I told him where I was going, so he won't be mad, right? I don't want him to get mad at me - I hate doing extra laps! We Italians are made for cooking, and painting, and waving white flags, not -"

With a sigh of annoyance Voldemort apparated away, dragging the man (who he had now deduced to be insane) with him.

...

AN:

Haha, I've been planning to write this fic for a while, and I've finally decided to post this out. Sorry for any OOC-ness but it's a crackfic so...well, that should be explanation enough xD

Review and tell me what you think :D