I own nothing that you recognize.
Every time you read a story and don't leave a review, God kills a kitten.
I've been ruminating on such a concept as this for quite some time now, but I'm still trying to decide how to continue this (during which of the books should this take place, etc.) so if you have any ideas for me and care to share them, please leave them in a review.
Thanks for reading, and enjoy!

A fluorescent light buzzed outside his window, illuminating his cell. A red eye blinked menacingly underneath the empty lens of the camera that was trained on him at all hours of the day. Two stories above him, in the security room, a bank of monitors stared at the guard, who suddenly felt an unearthly drowsiness come over him. His head slumped forward onto his chest. Behind him, a tall man lowered his wand and silently left the room.

One monitor, the one linked to the red eye staring at the Joker, flashed twice before going black. The red eye of the camera dimmed and died.

The Joker didn't see the red light disappear, although he was not sleeping. He was transfixed with the tile directly above where he lay on his cot. His scars itched as he muttered to himself. The laughter in his mind was cacophonous, coming from the man with whom he quietly argued. He licked his lower lip, his tongue lingering over the valley of the scar there, and he sat up in bed, listening.

The first step is for yoooou to figure out the password on the combo lock, since they decided to be cute and change it on you…. We mustn't keep the Batman waaaiting out there, you know….

In the hallway, red eyes blinked. This pair of red eyes surveyed the broken man on the cot, appraising his value. Coming to a decision, the red-eyed man stepped through the Plexiglas wall to stand next to the bed.

The Joker stared at the hooded figure that stood next to his bed. His brow furrowed suspiciously and he chewed the inside of his cheek.

"Now, what have we heeeere? Another charming hallucination, brought to you by the clever producers of Ambien, the shit that never works? I'm really getting sick of this, you know."

The red eyes bored into his, and a voice like sand in an hourglass infested his mind, chilling his blood.

Hello, Mr. Joker…. I have a proposition for you.

A pale, ropy hand extended from the cloak and pulled back the hood to reveal a white, snake-like face, twisted into a serene, terrifying smile. The Joker opened his mouth to yell, but couldn't – his voice was pulled back into his lungs as if held back by a spring.

Let's not have any of that, my friend…. I think we can come to an arrangement that is…mutually beneficial, the voice hissed. The Joker stared at the glinting eyes, and he whispered as he felt the knot holding back his voice loosen.

"What are you…? How are you…in my head?"

The snake spoke, out loud this time, in the same cold voice: "You would be amazed, my friend, at the powers of the mind; you, for instance, have an incredibly complex consciousness, that I can see already. You have the power of creating reality for yourself, creating memories, entire different psyches with intricate personalities." The Joker began to relax – this snake, this person, whatever it was – it understood him.

"You're right…. In fact, that's what they're medicating me for. Appaaaarently, it's a problem." He giggled nervously as the confidence of the clown began to creep back into him. The snake raised its bald brow with a look of mild interest. He spoke slowly.

"That is because they fear what they don't understand. You see, it takes a very intelligent person with incredible creativity to do what you do. You're not insane…."

"…I'm just ahead of the curve."

"Exactly." The snake's lip curled into a smirk, and the Joker cackled, delighted. "You see, Joker, I sought you out. I have heard of your talents."

"Have you? Am I reeeeally that famous?" He snickered.

"You are. I live in Britain, you see, but even I have heard of the panic that swept Gotham City months ago. Gotham itself is known around the world as a peculiar city, one that is guarded by a civilian in costume, and plagued by eccentric 'criminals', similarly disguised. You, in particular, interested me... You seem to have a real penchant for chaos. You are the type of person with whom I like to surround myself."

The Joker was quiet for a moment, studying the man in front of him. "Is that why you're visiting me? You're…a fan of my work?" He licked his lips gleefully.

"As I said, Joker, I have a proposition for you. I would like to hire you." The Joker burst into laughter, bouncing up and down on the mattress as he cackled hysterically. The voice in his ear began whispering excitedly.

"Well, sir, I haaaate to break it to ya', but there's a teeeeensy little problem with that – namely, that I'm in a maximum security prison for the criminally insaaane," he crooned.

"I was intending to release you." In one fluid movement, the Joker stood from his cross-legged position and began to pace jauntily on the bed.

"Now we're talkin', sweetheart!" he said. "I am, sir, entirely at your disposal. What is it exactly you would like me to doooo?"

The Dark Lord smiled knowingly at the damaged mind giggling before him, content with the thought that he had so easily won another follower.

Voldemort had been impressed – very impressed – with the speed and efficiency with which the muggle clown had brought Gotham City, choking, to its knees. He had been so impressed that he now thought to lower himself to recruiting a muggle. But he would not lose sleep over the potential embarrassment he might suffer, for the Joker was disposable. Once his value was exhausted, he would become another casualty of war.

For the time being, the Dark Lord mused on how quickly the Joker might be able to pull the feet out from under London, as he had done with Gotham.

The Dark Lord smiled as he explained his world to the Joker. He smiled, lying to the vulnerable, wounded soul before him, saying that he could be a part of this world, that he was different from other muggles. That he would be spared for his talents.

The Joker would be his Renfield. Useful, but disposable.

And he was blissfully unaware of his expendability as he gripped the shoulder of the Dark Lord, who turned on his heel and Apparated.

Upstairs, the monitor fizzled back to life, revealing an empty cell where the Joker had been. The guard slept on. The clown would not be missed until the following morning.