FicWad

Disclaimer: I do not own any Harry Potter or Batman ideas, heroes or villains.

I also have this Story posted at FanFiction . net under the name; The Jade Knight


Sanity, insanity? What is the real difference? While watching the Joker beat the mickey out of bat man the other day, I got thinking. Many of the Harry Potter characters are in perfect positions to lose their minds!

I see Two-Face flipping his coin in the great hall. I see the riddler in Potions class. I see countless other villains causing mayhem in the school of magic, spilling their happy madness over the world.

Be warned, thee who read; things are going to change. I will stay faithful to the main things, but others will change. Sometimes even sexes... who knows, we may have a female penguin?

I will be joining them in their insanity, writing from first person throughout, so no nattering about it, or i'll get nasty. That being said... blood is a must, and screams, and a little insanity. M rating for even the first chapter I think.

and here we go...





This is page five of the transcript taken from the recordings of the man calling himself the Joker. These pages are not to be take out of the Auror's Special Investigations Unit office. They are being provided for the express purpose of the recapture of all Arkham escapees.

August 13, 1996
St. Mungo's – Arkham Wing
Patient number: 19330
Name: Harry James Potter
Session three
Doctors present: Dr. Trent

---

Doctor Trent – 'So, Harry.'

Mr. Potter – 'I've told you before to call me Joker. Am I stuttering? Am I speaking in tongues? I don't think I'm inhabited by any spirits, so either I'm stuttering, which would be unfortunate; or you are ignoring my request. Are you ignoring my request? I'll tell you right now, that is a very bad idea.'

Doctor Trent – 'No, Harry, I am not ignoring your request. I believe it is in your best interests to get used to hearing your given name again.'

Mr. Potter – 'Oh, is that what it is? Funny, it still sounds like your ignoring me though, and there's only room for one Joker in this room.'

Doctor Trent 'Alright, Harry.'

Mr. Potter – 'Joker, last warning. And understand that I don't usually give those, unless it will be funnier. Think about that for a moment.'

Doctor Trent – 'How about we talk about your child hood?'

---



Chapter 1: A clown in the closet

There were these two guys in a lunatic asylum...







-Harry



Control.

Everything is about control. Control comes from power, but what does power come from? Right now I have none. I hear a bellow and know that the fat man has had a bad day at work, and when he has a bad day at work, it's an even worse evening for me.

I am thrown back into the cupboard, and the fat man yells something about me getting no meals. I lay down on the floor and turn so that I can see the TV under the door. The news is on and I have one last piece to understand. I think I'm finally getting close. For years I tried to get them to accept me, maybe even love me, but it never worked. They tried to control me with anger and hate, but after a time I began to figure out I had more control over them then they did over me.

Whispered words in the dark of night. The sounds of creaking stairs and cups in the kitchen. I remember that day very well. I had figured out a way to pick the lock from the inside of the cupboard door years ago, and that night I was getting some food when they came down. There was no time to get back into the cupboard, and the last time they caught me up after dark sneaking food I got a horrible beating. So I darted into the cupboard under the sink and stayed as quiet as I could, hoping that they wouldn't hear me.

“He'll be eleven this year Vernon,” said my aunt, “we have to do something.”

“I promised you when we agreed to keep him that I would stamp that freakishness out of him, and I have. We haven't seen anything freakish from him in almost a year and a half. The last time it was only his hair growing back, the time before that it was that rubbish with the toy fixing itself. We haven't really had to worry about him since that time he popped himself up onto the school.”

“I know, but what if it's not gone? What if he's just holding it in?” Petunia asked, pouring two cups of tea.

“Then I'll stomp harder!” Vernon boomed.

“Shhh, don't wake Duddy.”

“Sorry, dear. But you must understand that I will not let that freak hurt you or Dudley, I promise. If I have to teach him a lesson every day after supper, just so that nasty school never even sends him a letter, I will.”

“I know you will,” she cooed. “Your an excellent husband and a perfect father.”

I wasn't sure why they feared me, but they did. I could never understand why fear of me and a school seemed to be related, but I did understand the other part. Strange things have always gone on around me, and I hate to admit it, but the fat man is right; they have been happening less often.

It was a month later when I got another piece of this new and interesting puzzle. I knew that the Dursley's told all the teachers at the school that I was a hooligan or a hood or something. I'm not sure of the exact wording, but I do know that the teachers feared me too. They thought I was dangerous. I didn't fit into their neat little lives. They weren't afraid of what I was yet, but they were afraid of what I might become. They thought I was going to be a street drifter, a desperate man mugging and murdering to get by, or for pleasure. They thought I had no future, and in a place where everything had it's place; where they all had such plans for their children, I didn't belong.

I remember sitting on a swing one time, just watching the other children being picked up. I remember wondering if they knew the kind of masks their parents are wearing? I see the brown eyed woman come to pick up her daughter; those same eyes that feared me as she kicked me away from her daughter the one time I tried to make friends with her.

I saw the blond man pick up his two sons in his big suv. I remember a year ago when I tried to run away from the fat man, that same suv almost ran me over. I used to be very good friends with his son, back before. I suppose he wanted someone to blame his sons failing grades on, and I was convenient.

They all went about their business so properly, everyone of them lying through their teeth. They paint on their fake smiles and say their rehearsed lines. I once experimented with that. In any given moment there were only a certain number of accepted responses. Whether it be calling someone over for tea, or even cursing out someone who cut you off on the road; even when they later claim to have lost control they still keep within those unspoken lines. All you have to do is understand where those lines are, and suddenly you can predict what almost anyone can do in almost any situation.

I spent many nights understanding that.

I would sneak out of my cupboard every night like always, but instead of going to the kitchen, I went outside. I wandered down the streets and, I suppose on some level I was becoming what those liars at the school feared I would. I saw many things at night. Fear told me many things about who people really were, and the darkness of a moonless night revealed just as much.

I saw one of my teachers standing on a street corner. She had a husband and two children, yet for some reason she was out here. I was too young to understand everything that I saw, but I understood enough. She had a painted on face like everyone else, but she at least seemed to know it. She didn't change it, but she knew.

I was there the night a man drove up and pulled a knife on her. He was yelling about money and banished that knife around very close to her face. She got frightened, and began to cry, and the most miraculous thing happened. I had wandered around for a few weeks, but Mrs Honey was one I could never figure out. But under a knife; under fear, I saw the paint come off and the true face come out.

I moved closer, and listened as she cried and went on. Apparently she had a gambling problem, it started when she was younger. Her husband knew about it, but didn't stop her in time. She owed a lot of people a lot of money, and they got tired of trying to collect, so they turned the debt over to a local mob boss. Now she was working to pay it off, because they knew where her children were. He took some money from her, and his knife went away. Her mask came back up and he drove off.

I had a lot to think about that night.

Over the next few weeks I saw many things, but there was one constant that I figured out quickly. Fear is the only truth. People lie, and plan and scheme their whole day. But throw in a little fear and everything comes tumbling down; everyone loses their minds and all their lies and masks are useless or forgotten. Then I met the man with the gun.

Every night I usually ended up at a convenience store run by an old man. He didn't ask questions and I didn't try to steal from him like I sometimes did; we had an understanding. Then one night a man walks in, he's wearing a stretchy black fabric over his face and in his hand is a rather old looking pistol. He shouted a lot and waved his gun around a lot. The two other people in the store immediately dropped to the floor and started screaming.

I stood still and watched him. I was just behind the coffee bar, so I guess he didn't see me. People screamed, and I'm pretty sure the man with tattoos pissed himself. Everyone was scared, and I took it all in. The old man was shot, but he survived. I still see him some nights. Over the next few weeks you couldn't go anywhere without someone talking about 'the shooting'. There were security camera pictures on TV and even posters with his face, asking people to identify him. There were interviews on the news; parents saying that they wouldn't let their kids outside until he's caught; young women saying that they wouldn't go out alone with him 'on the loose'. And they always used the same words; on the loose, at the end of his rope, danger to himself and others. Even as they claimed terror and panic, they still played by their rules; still said all of their lines.

What confused me was what happened later.

They found the man a few days later, holed up in his friends house. Apparently his friends girl-friend is the one that called the police. She said she was afraid. She faced the fear and found her mask wanting. I hate cowards.

So, turns out he's only a few blocks away. I think to myself, 'why not go pay the man a visit?' I wait until it's night time and sneak out again. His place is only a few blocks away from the fat man's house, so it doesn't take me too long to get there. I walk up from an alley and keep to the shadows; don't want any 'helpful' police to get any ideas.

Flashing lights are everywhere. Red and blue flicker and flash over everything. They make my eyes hurt, but I look anyway. People in uniforms are everywhere; setting up their street signs and unrolling their yellow tape. People shout into megaphones and cellphones, or just seem to like yelling. Someone is crying into a megaphone telling someone in the house the usual lines of how much they love them and need them. And everywhere are guns. And not just dirty old ones either; they wouldn't miss fire twice like that night in the store. Little hand guns gleam in the blue and red light. Large barrel looking guns are being passed out from trunks and there is even a black van with S.W.A.T. on the side. They're pulling out dozen's of different guns, all of their men and women wearing black shiny armor and helmets; all hiding their faces like the man in the store.

I watch, and feel amazed as people continue to come out of their identically perfect houses and line up all around to stare and gawk like idiots. There are more guns then I can count being waved around, but this time no one runs or screams or pisses themselves. They just line up like chickens and watch. There was so much panic before over one little gun that barely worked, why are they so calm? All of these guns look shiny and well cared for; I'm very sure they will work the first time. Why is no one running?

Before I can think further, a dozen people wearing helmets that hid their face – much like the man's stretchy fabric – broke in the front door and ran in. there was a deep pause, and then an explosion. The windows in the perfect little house lite up with the flashes of guns and the air filled with cracks. Crashes and screams echoed from inside the house, and no one on the sidewalk ran away, some even moved closer!

I went to sleep very confused that night.

Now the news said all kinds of interesting things. According to them, the coward woman was a hero, and apparently the mayor was going to give her a medal. They went on to say how heroic – they made sure to say that word many times – the heavily armed police were, charging into a small house with five people inside, only two of whom had any sort of weapon. They showed pictures of the crime scene. They showed the 'heroic' police and all of their guns. They even showed the two surviving members of the 'crime syndicate' being walked out, followed by three black body bags, and the people cheered?

At the little store, there was one man with an old gun, and only one person was injured, but so lightly that I saw him back at work three nights after. Now they have a hundred people with a hundred working guns, three people dead and another shot in the shoulder and they cheer? I was starting to get a headache from trying to understand until the news person said they had an exclusive with the police commissioner.

He rambled on about how brave his people were – he said heroic a lot also – until he hit something that made it all make sense. He said that everything had gone according to plan.

According to plan!

That was it!

One man with a gun injuring another for a few dollars was outside the plan, and so it didn't fit in. Everyone went insane because one man didn't follow the plan! Now a hundred people with a hundred guns killing people? That was part of the plan, so it was perfectly acceptable. Everyone watched in interest and cheered.

Control comes from power.

The only true power; the only true truth, is fear.

He who goes against the plan causes chaos, and from chaos comes fear.

He who is an agent of chaos has control!

I can become my own person! I can shed this hate that is forced on me because I will not abide by their plan, by actively fighting the plan.






The moon is bright tonight. I like it when the moon is full; I always feel more energetic. A few bats flutter peacefully across the rooftops. There must be a nest somewhere close. I had just visited the old man again and now I had a little bag of candies. There were a few little sour ones and a few sweet ones. They were really quite tasty. I had never had candies before, but now I understand why Dudley is always eating them. I had never had money before I stole it, but now I can understand why everyone is so obsessed with it. I still don't understand why people are obsessed with millions of dollars though; everything I like or could ever want is cheap.

I pop another little candy into my mouth as I turn down an darker street. Some of the street lights are out and the few that are left draw long shadows around everything. I see a couple with a child in front of me and a man coming down the other side of the street. I got a little tingle on the back of my neck, the same tingle that always told me the fat man was in a bad mood.

“I'm tired father,” whined the little boy, “when can we go home?”

“Now, now,” replied his father. “What have I told you about whining?”

“Sorry.”

“Don't let it happen again,” he said sternly. “And as for going home, we just need to get somewhere out of the sight of the muggles.”

That's a word I haven't heard before, hmm. Anyway, there's no time to think on it. The man across the street was crossing, and I was getting a very weird feeling from him. He lightly stepped up onto the sidewalk and continued toward us with his head down and his hands in his pockets. The man who had scolded his son slipped a hand into the pocket of his crisp tuxedo. I wonder if he has a gun? I pop another sweet into my mouth and follow along.

The man in the overcoat suddenly pulls something from his pocket; something that flashes in the dim light. The man in the suit matches his movements, drawing what looks like a twig from his pocket. The sound of metal scraping and then the sound of flesh tearing. The man in the suit drops his stick and clutches at his bloody hand, but the man with the knife wastes no time and makes a second slash across the mans throat, spilling crimson blood all down his neat suit.

“Lucius!” the woman screams. She shouldn't have done that. The man with the knife twists and cuts twice more. The pears from around her neck fly off in a spray of blood, showering the blond boy clutching her leg. He screams next, but the knife is still this time.

I pop another candy in my mouth just as the man holding the knife looks to me. “Why aren't you screaming or running?”

“Your not attacking me,” I said simply, “and even then I'd like to think I'm well on my way to controlling fear.”

“Really?” he asked, not minding the little blond boy shaking his father.

“Father, please wake up!”

I chose not to answer a useless question.

“Aren't you afraid of my blade? It's very sharp, and you've just seen me kill two people?”

“I think guns are faster.”

“Ahhh yes,” he agreed, “they are faster, but unless I'm very pressed for time I prefer a knife. With a knife, you get to savor all of those little, emotions, in their final moments.”

“I see,” I replied, eating the last of my candy and dropping the bag. “Would you like to know what I believe in?”

Between us the blond boy was crying hysterically over his dead parents. “Help me!” he begged, looking at me. I suppose I might have, but his parents were already dead. There was no point.

“Sure, why not?”

“I believe that everyone, consciously or not, is following the plan. They scheme and try to manipulate the world around them, but they are all still slaves to the plan. I, on the other hand, found that the only real way to live was to go against the plan. I am no one's slave.”

“Interesting,” the man says, stalking a little closer to me. “And why are you planning to do now?”

“Well, the plan says that I should fear you. A noble idea in itself, I'm sure you've realized that fear is the only way to the real truth. But I don't like to follow the plan.” I lunged at him, startling him in my blatant shirking of the plan. He gathered himself before I could make it too close, and he took a swipe at me. I tried to duck under the blade, but I reacted too slow and I felt the incredibly sharp blade tear into one side of my face and out the other. Pain exploded in my head, but I was used to pain and knew how to push through it.

I clamped his hand in my own, twisting until he dropped his knife. I kicked him in the groin with a shout and enjoyed his girly scream of pain. I grabbed up his knife and slashed him across the face a few times before I managed to hit his neck and slit a main vain. Blood gushed over my feet as he fell. He squirmed and kicked for a moment, trying desperately to hold his blood in, but it was no use and he died soon after.

“Help me!” the blond boy screamed again.

“It's to late kid,” I said, feeling my mouth tear more. I wiped the blood off of the knife and considered it for a moment before I put it in my pocket. “They're dead. Move on.”







I went home, leaving the boy to cry over his dead parents. Someone would find him soon. When I got back to the hell hole I immediately went up to the bathroom. I washed off as much of the blood on my face as I could, but the bloody rips on my face still bled. I could really use one of those weird things to happen right now. I suppose it's worth a try. I focused on my face really hard, almost trying to will my face back together, but after a few minutes and a small headache I gave up.

I wandered downstairs and picked the lock on the medicine cupboard in the kitchen. After I got it open I searched around and found a bottle of some pain killers. I popped a few and chewed. Dragging the chair back to the table I turned to leave, and came face to torn and bloody face with Dudley.

I expected him to scream or yell at the least, but he just sleepily pushed his way past me and into the kitchen. He opened the fridge and got a can of pop, downed it, and then walked out again muttering something about a useless freak. Why didn't he scream or yell about me? I must look gruesome. I felt more blood beginning to run down my face, so I went back up stairs. It wasn't until I looked back into the mirror that I understood.

The face looking back at me was normal. There was no tattered grin or blood flaked cheeks. I looked like I did this morning. Then, as I watched, the image slowly faded until I was staring at my wide grin again. Oh, great. Maybe this freakish stuff was useful after all.

I experimented for the next few hours until I could hide my face all together. I'm not quite sure how I was doing it, but it was still just an illusion; if I tried to touch my face I felt the blood and torn flesh. Well, I supposed I can't anyone get to close then; ha, like that was a problem with the Dursley's. Anyways, I should try to close these cuts up somehow. I search around, but all I can find is a large needle and some yarn. Not the best things to use. Guess I'll have some scars to enjoy then. I chuckle to myself as I slowly sew my face back together with the bright green yarn.

Well, it was getting late and I would have to cook the fat man his breakfast. I was just about to go downstairs when I remembered the knife I had taken. I pulled it out and looked over it again. It was a straight razor, kind of like the one the fat man shaves with, when he bothers with hygiene. It had a pearl handle and the blade was stainless steel and very sharp. I admired it, before stashing it away again.







I was laying down under the tree outside the next night, just staring up at the sky. I have to actively create chaos or I'll go back to the way I was before eh? Well, I don't want that. I pull my new knife out of my pocket and flicking it open and closed a few times. I rolled it around in my hand for a bit, enjoying the feel of it. I was still learning how to truly control chaos and fear. Until I was a master – and maybe even after – I needed an … opponent. Someone or something to test myself against. If I died in the process, then I wasn't meant to be an agent of chaos and my life is meaningless anyway. But if I do succeed, I could become something incredible.

“What are you doing out so late son?”

I bolt up. Damn, I'm better then this! No one should be able to sneak up on me. I glare at the man standing just on the other side of the hedge. He is wearing a uniform and shines a flashlight on me. Cops. Fuck, I hate cops. And if he saw the knife still in my hand, well there would be a problem. Suddenly, violently and all over the place; just like the mugger. But when a moment passed he didn't say anything about a knife, I chanced a look at my own hand brightened by the flashlight. There was nothing! I could still feel the handle in my palm, but I couldn't see it.

“Son?” he asked again.

“I'm just enjoying the stars,” I lie easily. “My father just went back into the house to get some more juice. He'll be right back, mister officer.”

“Well don't stay out to long.” Another tired old line. Pathetic. “You don't want to be too tired for school.”

“No sir,” I replied in a childish voice, and he went away.

Now what the hell happened to my knife? I turn my hand over a few times. It was a curious sensation, to feel a knife in your hand, but be unable to see it; I could even close my hand into a fist and not even feel anything. The sensation of a knife resting there was still present, but for all I knew it was just a feeling. I turned my hand over again, and, wanting to see my knife again, something happened. The light around my hand bend slightly, and then my knife was there again. I twisted my wrist again, and after a few tried managed to vanish it again.

Interesting.

I played around with my new ability for a while before I got bored with it and began to think again. An opponent. The light catches the blade in my hand again and I stare down at it, remembering the man with the knife threatening my school teacher.

The mob knew the truth of fear. Did they also know the roll of chaos? Maybe. But even If they didn't … it might be fun. I grin widely, feeling a little pull on my hasty stitches. But I couldn't take the mob on by myself. At least not yet. I would need … underlings, people to do as I say. Soldiers. Yes, that's it. But where to find them.

Ah, I know.

I laugh into the night sky.

They were always afraid that I'd become a hood or gang member; I think it's about time I lead a few.








“Zack! We can't just leave them in there!” a woman shouted.

I had been searching around the more rundown parts of the town until I happened to stumble onto these bags of fun. They called themselves the purple farts or something. They could use a lot of work, but I was pretty sure they would make a good starting army. I had seen about twenty or thirty people come into this old warehouse over the last few days, and this Zack seems to be their leader. Well, time to go said hi!

“They knew what they were doing! All of us do. It's their own fault the cops got them.”

I sneak in through the skylight and down a flight of maintenance stairs. I stand in the shadows just outside the circle of light cast by the few remaining light bulbs. Show time in five! I slowly let the illusion on my face fall, showing my green stitches and smiling face for all to see. There are about a dozen of them right now.

Zack is a typical little gang wannabe. He's decently muscled and about six foot three; a full foot over me. He wears a beaten up leather jacket and a pair of ratty jeans, and judging from the looks he was getting, he was no longer the majority leader. Any second now I'm sure one of those tough looking types in the corners are going to try to take leadership forcefully.

“Trouble in paradise?” I ask smoothly, making sure to keep back a little, so that they can't make out all of me.

“Who's there?” Zack shouted. The girl that had been shouting at him also turned to me. She had dyed purple hair and looked almost sickly thin.

“Avon calling?” I called, quickly followed by a cackle. “What? No? How about private investigator? I've come to investigate your privets!” I laughed again, and this time I was joined by two of the larger men. Good. A family who laughs together, kills together.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Zack yelled, getting a little red in the face.

“I'm not too sure,” I answered truthfully. “And a side note; I take back that private investigator thing. You look like you might enjoy it a little too much.” A oriental woman joined the two men.

“Look punk, I don't care who you are, but this is Purple Pythons territory and we don't like visitors.”

“Purple Pythons? Ahh that was it. I don't know why but I thought it was the purple farts. Although, I don't suppose the initials Pee Pee are any better. Have to take a wiz when you thought up the name Zacky-boy?”

“Fuck you!” he bellow, pulling a silver gun from under his shirt.

“Oh, a gun?” I asked, with amusement. I decided now was a good time to walk out. Slowly, looking as if I had all the time in the world, I stepped into the light. The few chuckles and smiled that were left fell fast as they got a good look at my face. I was still wearing my school uniform, and that, tied with the blood soaked green stitches on my face; well I must look a fright! HA! “Anyone ever tell you not to bring a gun to a knife fight?” With a twist of my wrist I pulled my pearl handled razor out of wherever it went.

“Holy shit,” someone said in a whisper.

“What do you want?” asked Zack in a slightly shaky voice. He was trying to hide it, but I saw. It was something very close to fear, and fear was truth. He was a coward, and most likely a squealer. Looking around at the others I saw one more coward – the oriental woman – but the rest seemed salvageable. Alright, lets begin the hostile takeover.

“What do I want?” I asked, looking hurt. “I want what anyone wants. A few friends, leadership of a gang, and all you can eat jello.”

“What are you? Some kind of Joker?”

“Hmm,” I said slowly. “You know, that's not a bad idea. Life is such a joke. Everyone going about their little lives; so insignificant. They try and try to be someone in this huge world, but they follow the plan, they have to follow the plan. Life tosses them aside like freaks and puppy killers if they don't follow the plan. And the plan doesn't want them to be somebody. It wants them to be like everyone else. The perfect punchline if you ask me. All of life is a joke!” I crowed before falling into laughter.

“Kid, you're really starting to piss me off.”

I didn't even give him a chance to finish his sentence before I was a blur of movement. I ran forward as fast as I could, dropped and slid between his legs, raising my knife and cutting his danglies as I passed. He screamed, dropped his gun and grabbed his crotch. I cackled again and jumped up onto his back. I grabbed a handful of hair and pulled back, slitting his throat. He kicked and gurgled before dropping to the floor. “Yeehaw!” I cheered from his thrashing back until he stopped moving. “Awe, is it over already? And here's me without another quarter.”

“Anyone else wanna try for leader?” I asked sportingly. Good to give them chances for advancement. A guy screamed with anger and charged me. Judging from the amount of anger and the tears in his eyes I supposed he and Zack were a 'thing'. I ducked under an arm and put a cut on his ribs. When he flinched away and dropped his arms to guard the wound I went for the eyes. He screamed again and held his bloody face in agony. I kicked him over, and took my time going to retrieve Zack's gun. I made my way back over to the boy toy, and then put him out of his misery with a bang and a little cloud of smoke.

“Anyone else?” I asked evenly. I got no answer so I assumed they were all content with me as a leader. “Alright first orders of business. You are all now renamed 'The Crimson Carnival' and you all report to me. Our overall goal is to take down the mob and breed as much chaos as we can, but I understand that is a lofty goal, and we will start small with banks and the like. Any questions?”

None raised a hand; they all just stared at the ten year old standing over two dead and bloody bodies with a bloody knife in one hand and a gun in the other. They'll have to get tough somehow. “Good, I'll be charlie and you can all be my angels.” I looked over to the hairy fat guy. “Except you, you can be Bosley.”










How do you like it? hogwarts will start in chapter two, but the years in a broken mind pass fast. Heroes and villains are still being decided, and suggestions are welcomed. There won't be an excessive amount of romance, but there will be some, pairings also under construction.

YeaWHAHAHAHAHA!