I'm sorry. So much has happened in the past month it isn't even funny... you get a little present at the end of this for waiting. Review, please~? And speaking of, thanks to those who reviewed: Equality4Puppies, Myrkvun (how do you even pronounce that?), Zantetsuken Reverse, DarkDramaLady, xXNaidaXx, inkedvigilante, derpology, HetaliaKitty, Crazy Awesome Neko, zoewinter1, Hammsters, SarcasticBlue, Evening Emerald, begitte and our guest reviewers!

Chapter 13

"IGGY IGGY IGGY GUESS WHAT'S ON THE BULLETIN BOARD! GUESS GUESS GUESS!"

Britain pretends to have to think for a moment. "Oh, I don't know, Alfred. Maybe the notice for Quidditch tryouts?"

"HOW DID YOU KNOW?!"

"I put it there. Now stop shouting and stand in one place, you git."

America suddenly stops bouncing, growing serious, though not any quieter. "YOU PUT IT THERE?"

"Yes, of course. I'm the Gryffindor Quidditch captain."

It takes America a moment to process. "YOU? THEY PICKED YOU?"

"Yes. Remarkable as you obviously think it is, I have played in many a memorable game."

"IGGY IGGY IGGY TEACH ME TO FLY ON A BROOM PLEASE I WANT TO PLAY PLEASE PLEASE PICK ME!" America starts bouncing again.

"Slow down, America! Honestly, how much sugar have you had this morning?!"

"A LOT…"

Britain facepalms. "Remember, your body's twelve years old. Sugar rushes happen, believe it or not."

"WELL, CAN I TRY OUT?" America asks, still fidgeting despite his best efforts.

"I will pick the best players for each position, and that's all there is to it," Britain explains. "I'll hold… for lack of better terminology, a crash course in broom flying tomorrow. Then you may try out, and if you're fit for a position, you just may get it."

"THANK YOU!"

"Whatever." Britain rolls his eyes. "I hope you're not fit in the slightest. Now for Pete's sake, go burn off some of that sugar."

"OKAY!"

-/|\-

"Hey, Feliks, it's time to get up," Victoire says, flicking her friend lightly. Poland rolls over, whining for her to go away; he liked his pony dream, but the damage is done – he's awake.

"What?" he grumbles, cracking open his eyes and yawning. "It has to be, like, three in the morning right now."

"It's actually six-thirty. Ravenclaw has the Quidditch pitch now! Time for tryouts!"

"Like, whatever, Vic." He rolls onto his side.

Victoire drops down to her knees to look Poland straight in the eyes. "You said you'd come with me! Please, Feliks?" She smiles her best pleading smile.

Poland rolls his eyes. "I can't say no to you, Vic." Victoire smiles and leaves the Ravenclaw third-year boys' dormitory quietly, doing her best not to wake anyone else. Poland rolls out of bed and makes a racket getting his robes from his trunk, effectively rendering Victoire's caution moot; Romano chucks his pillow at him before retreating back beneath his covers. In his defense, it's Saturday.

In all honesty, Poland doesn't mind the clothes that much. Sure, the black robes are a bit boring, but having Ravenclaw blue and bronze on the rest of his clothes (and the fact the Hungary had loaned him some of her girls' uniform skirts in exchange for a pair of boys' pants) helps. Besides, he's allowed to wear accessories like the pretty blue bow that goes in his hair today, so it's, like, totally okay.

Victoire grins at him from across the common room as he comes down the stairs. In her hands are two broomsticks, old but in good condition. "Teddy let me borrow his and this other one is from Uncle Harry," she explains at Poland's confused look. "Come on, we're going to be late!"

-/|\-

Cassandra Mofoll, seventh year and Ravenclaw Quidditch captain and keeper, prided herself in being prepared for anything.

Unfortunately for her, that "anything" did not include a cross-dressing Polish third year who didn't know how to play Quidditch.

Especially when he was so darn good at it anyway.

He knew how to fly a broom; that was certain. He rode like he was riding a horse or something, but it was effective. He and Victoire Weasley tossed the Quaffle back and forth without a care; they avoided Bludgers Cassandra had had the Beaters launch at them with ease. Cassandra did her best to block the goals, but at least without a true opposing team, Victoire and Feliks outmaneuvered her.

With a tired sigh, Cassandra lands and checks them off on her clipboard. Two Chasers found, one to go, though none of the other candidates look promising. She voices this opinion to a friend, who reminds her that neither the Polish cross-dresser nor the pensive Norwegian fifth year who took the position of Seeker by storm had looked promising either.

In the end, she decides that they might – they just might – win this year.

-/|\-

Traditionally, the Seeker is the last person to be chosen during Quidditch tryouts, and Slytherin has never not observed that tradition. This year was meant to be no exception. And the choice of Seeker came down to Sasha Alexander and a certain Icelandic student who, in Sasha's opinion, did not belong in Slytherin – heck, in the school. Durmstrang sounded like a better place for him.

Regardless, it came down to them, and Sasha couldn't do a thing about it, no matter how many years she'd been Seeker (four years) or how unfair it is that Iceland got to try out when he probably wouldn't even be coming to Hogwarts next year (very unfair). Denmark took the opportunity to point out that she'd had no problems with his being a Beater. Iceland glared. The team captain rolled his eyes and ordered the two candidates to get on their brooms.

The Snitch is released.

Twenty seconds later – and it feels like an eternity to both of them – the Seekers take off.

"You're fast!" Sasha yells as she accelerates.

"I learned from the best," Iceland shrugs, trying not to get distracted.

"Who would that be?"

"You don't need to know." He suddenly drops into a dive. Sasha follows.

"I'm sure I don't, since I'm the Seeker on this team."

"Not for long, you're not."

Sasha laughs, pulling up just before hitting the ground. "You really don't know how this works, do you?"

"I think I know enough of how it works." He gives himself a bit more altitude to pull out of his own dive. "For example –" He cuts off as he spots the Golden Snitch, hovering just off to his left. Unfortunately, Sasha spies it too. It's an all-out race. They're right next to each other, reaching out, going for the prize.

Just… another… centimeter…

Iceland snatches it first and smiles. "For example, I know you don't get to be Seeker."

-/|\-

Hufflepuff has the pitch for tryouts right after Slytherin. Teddy Lupin, fourth year and Hufflepuff Quidditch captain, takes the broom he'd lent to Victoire from the locker room where she'd left it before calling the potential players to order.

"We're first choosing a Keeper – it seems Elijah is the only one trying out, though," he reads from his parchment. "Well, Elijah, I think you're in."

"No," Elijah answers quickly and firmly, green eyes flashing. "We're doing this the right way. I try out and you tell me whether I'm on the team; I'm not to tell you."

"Oh, come on, Thimblewaist," Lizzy Greene whines. "You're Head Boy. You can tell us whatever you want. But Gryffindor has the pitch in an hour and a half, so we don't have all day."

"We can discuss this later," Teddy sighs, "because Lizzy's right . We don't have much time. Elijah, if you could please at least act as Keeper for the Chasers, please." Elijah nods and mounts his broom. "Now, let's see… Connor Brant?"

"Um… that's me…" Connor says shyly from his spot in the stands. Latvia, next to him, pushes him gently to encourage him to go down to the pitch.

"It says you're a first year. Do you have the permit from Madame Hooch?"

"Yes, sir…"

"Oh, you don't have to go calling me 'sir,'" Teddy reproaches with a grin. He turns his hair from bright red to brighter turquoise almost unconsciously. "If you flew so well as to skip flying class and get yourself here, then, well, you're almost part of the team just now. I'm Teddy and that's what you should call me."

Latvia and Connor, being in the same year and house, spend a lot of time together. They pair up to practice together in nearly every class. The only exception is flying, where Connor is far out of Latvia's league. Since Professor McGonagall became headmistress, any first years that showed extraordinary talent in their first two flying classes could get special permission to try out for Quidditch. This year, it was only Connor and Iceland who were good enough – not that Latvia minds. He prefers the rather safer ground, but he came to tryouts to provide moral support.

In the end, Connor is the breakout star, easily nabbing a Chaser spot next to Teddy. Overall, the team looks great. Teddy pulls Lizzy to the side later to say that they may just have a chance this year.

-/|\-

"Charlotte," Sasha says flatly. "Where were you during Quidditch tryouts?" It's no real question. Charlotte carefully slides a bookmark into her book and looks up, waiting for Sasha to continue. "I made the team."

"Of course you did, Sasha. There's no reason you wouldn't be the Seeker again."

Sasha just laughs. "Oh, there's a reason. Why wasn't I told that there was another potential Seeker – a GOOD potential Seeker?"

"I thought I'd taken care of them all for you!"

"Wrong. That little first year – Emmy or Eric or something – was still in for it. And he got the spot, can you believe it?"

"He did?!" Oh, no… oh, dear… "But I thought you said you were on the team!"

"Only because Rupert took pity on me and offered me a Chaser spot! That kid got the position by fluke. Now we're going to lose the Cup. And why are we going to lose the Cup? Why, Charlotte?"

"I'm sorry! It won't happen again. I'll… I'll make sure you win your first game! I guarantee it!"

"We had better. Now, I'm going to go make some arrangements. You watch him, understand? You watch that boy. I don't want him to ruin the Quidditch season for Slytherin."

"He won't."

"Thank you, dear. Now, it's time for lunch, isn't it?"

I really do apologize for the quality of that. I've learned that I can't write anything relevant to sports to save my life. And half of this was written when I was technically way too tired to do anything. Like right now. Which is why I'm going to post this silly little omake now and leave. Good night; don't forget to review and check out my Tumblr, username as-if-unreal (and you win the Internet and pie if you figure out how I got that)!

Prussia waves madly, motioning for America and Canada to join him on the side of the hallway. He holds a small vial with pink liquid in it. "Guys, look at this! Setaroot gave me some love potion recipe to try and make and it smells really good! Like pancakes and beer and the blood of my enemies!"

Canada eyes him warily. "Gilbert, if you've been trying wizarding drugs-"

"No, no, just smell it!"

Sighing, Canada takes the vial and sniffs cautiously as America watches, amused.

"I have to admit it does smell like pancakes... and maple syrup... and maybe some cigarette smoke... I have no idea where you're getting blood, though."

Prussia smirks, grabs the vial back, and takes another sniff. "Kesesesese, just kidding! It's just pancakes and beer and perfume and mein bruder's black forest cake."

"Alright, now I wanna try. Let me smell it!" America declares, snatching the vial and holding it to his nose. "It smells like FREEDOM!" he whoops, throwing his hands in the air and sending the vial crashing to the ground. "Ehe... it smelled like freedom..."

Prussia breaks out in his signature laughter as Canada sighs yet again and cleans up the mess with a spell. "I don't think freedom smells like pancakes, Al."

America's goofy smile returns. "No, it's PANCAKES that don't smell like FREEDOM!" He laughs and races down the hall in exactly the opposite of the direction he and Canada need to go. Canada moans exasperatedly and Prussia outright doubles over in his laughter before the former goes stumbling off after his brother, mumbling to himself.

"I don't think freedom has a smell, eh. Does it...?"