I am truly sorry that I haven't updated this story in the past month - I was focusing on a new collection of short stories and one-shots that it ate up a lot of my time. I hope to have that change this month.

I don't own Harry Potter. Please let me know what you think.

Harry Potter: Thinking like a Thief.

Harry wondered who was coming off as more desperate to find a way of getting him into trouble; Umbridge or Filch. It was bad enough Umbridge was still trying to get a rise out of him in her classes, but Filch stalking him like a serial killer looking for his next victim showed just how pathetic the pair of them was. What made it worse was there was nothing he could do without giving Umbridge and Fudge what they wanted on a platter.

Filch's sudden habit of stalking him had started on the very same day Professor Umbridge told him to come to her office for a meeting on the Hogsmeade weekend. Harry did not believe in coincidences. In his experience as a thief, things looking like a coincidence were always the plans of somebody else. He had seen proof of that belief in his first and second years at Hogwarts, where Dumbledore and the staff clearly knew more about what was happening than they let on.

But in this case…

Harry turned to the two spies. "Filch is following us again," he said quietly.

Ron actually turned his head to look.

"Don't look, you idiot!" Harry hissed. Why couldn't this hot-headed orangutan who'd been strategically shaved to resemble a human being ever learn to be discreet? "I don't want him to know we're onto him."

Ron's face went red. "Why not?" He demanded hotly. "He's been following us around for days now…"

"A fortnight, and 3 hours and 20 seconds to be exact," Harry checked his watch to make sure the calculation was correct, "And answering your question, I've got a surprise for him."

"What kind of surprise?"

"You'll see."

"You won't get into trouble, will you?" Hermione asked anxiously.

"No," Harry sighed as he and his so-called friends headed for lunch. The hall was quite packed with other students from different years and the different houses, but he hadn't had any trouble picking out Filch in the crowd.

Hermione risked a quick glance - Ron didn't notice, but Harry did; he wasn't worried since, unlike her fellow spy, Hermione knew better than to be indiscreet even if she had her own issues - and she sniffed. Harry guessed Hermione was not exactly impressed by the Hogwarts caretaker's lack of discretion. "I guess he's trying to be stealthy," she said as they walked into the Great Hall and they took their seats, her amused if disapproving tone making it clear she did not like the thought of someone with some degree of authority following them but was amused by what Filch believed was discretion. Harry couldn't blame her.

"I only hope his cleaning skills are as good as his stalking skills," Harry replied as he looked at the food available, and he reached out and took some chicken and vegetable soup and some rolls.

Ron laughed at what he said, but Harry and Hermione didn't chuckle; while he might be wrong considering how absolute Hermione's hypocritical authority figure worship was, Harry had the theory she was disturbed he described Filch as a stalker, but that was what he was. Harry did not say anything either for a moment.

Argus Filch had always disgusted Harry. It had nothing to do with the fact Filch could not do magic since Harry had spent so much of his time in the muggle world. No, the reason he had always despised Filch was because of how he acted. Filch spent a lot of his time going on about how he wanted to hang kids up by the thumbs in the dungeons and hear them scream, or he wanted to whip them for anything from pranks to simply walking through the corridors of the school. Filch hated kids and he seemed to hate his job, but instead of trying to make the best of things he had decided to make everyone as miserable as himself. Filch was incredibly bitter because he was working and living in a school full of people who could perform magic, from Albus Dumbledore, who was seen as the most powerful wizard in Britain (Harry knew thanks to his trip to America, there were witches and wizards in the MACUSA who were much more powerful than Dumbledore, and they were much younger and they preferred living and working on different things rather than spend their time flittering about with so many careers) to the students, and while Harry was able to understand even sympathise with Filch at the never-ending reminders that the squib was living in a school full of magical children and he could sort of see it from Filch's point of view, it was a terrible excuse to treat people like dirt.

But what Harry could not understand was why Filch was even here. He hadn't given it much thought in his first two years at the school, but Harry had learnt about the House-elves in the castle. They cooked and they cleaned a lot of the school. A House-elf was capable of looking at a terrible mess in a hall, a corridor, a cupboard, a kitchen or even a toilet like the one Moaning Myrtle frequently flooded, and they only had to click their fingers and the place was gleaming like new as if it hadn't even been dirtied in the first place. They didn't have to scrub everything although he knew they occasionally did, to make the job look good.

So what was the point of hiring a man who couldn't do the same thing? If Filch was simply around to supervise, which would make sense, then Harry could understand, but from what he had seen Filch didn't seem to have anything to do with the House-elves. What bothered him the most was just how ungrateful Filch was; he had a job, and yet he was constantly acting like a miserable bastard when other squibs were likely having it quite rough, but instead of being happy he had a salary that was consistent and regular, he was instead happy complaining and fantasising he could whip kids.

Harry did not like that. He had been abused as a child, and he hated it.

But if Filch honestly thought any parent with a brain in their head thought they would tolerate strangers beating their children, then he was in for a shock. If Harry had kids, and some jumped up squib in a school attacked them, he would teach that squib a lesson in magic, one they would never forget, and it would result in snapped bones.

"He's certainly trying to follow Umbridge's orders and get you into trouble, isn't he?" Hermione interrupted his thoughts and Harry looked up at her while he slowly sipped his soup. Mm, while he could see Hermione's point about the House-elves, he actually admired them.

"He's going to have to do better than that, I'm not going to do anything to provoke him. The problem is Filch and Umbridge are just both pathetic, sad people they can't see they are wasting time," Harry scooped up some more of his soup and ate it, relishing the taste, "I don't understand why he's in this castle in the first place," he added, voicing one of his inner thoughts about Filch.

At the same time, Harry thought about what would make Filch follow him. Had Umbridge promised him something? Harry felt that was perhaps the likeliest answer. But what worried him was what it was; it was likely Umbridge, with Fudge's backing, had promised Filch some of the more disgusting things the squib wanted. Harry knew what they were; the harsh punishments for kids, but Harry didn't know if Fudge or Umbridge would even entertain them.

Fudge would be kicked out of office the moment the parents and the Wizengamot discovered what the little fool had done, and Umbridge's rank in magical society wouldn't last long if she did anything like that.

"What?" Hermione gaped at him, surprised by the sudden shifting in the topic. "What do you mean? Filch is the Hogwarts caretaker-."

"Yes, a caretaker," Harry repeated while he gazed pointedly back at her. "But is he needed? Think about it, we live in a magical school where there are House-elves - hear me out," he added sternly, raising a hand quickly to stop the rant from Hermione; he admired her commitment to giving the House-elves better lives, but he wished she would take the time to properly learn more about the House-elves than making assumptions about what she thought they needed and wanted, "where there are House-elves who can clean up the school much more quickly than Filch can. So what's the point of keeping him?"

"You're right," Ron interrupted thoughtfully (Harry didn't even bother looking at him; there would be food around Ron which was reminiscent of Mr Creosote before he burst), "why is Filch here?"

"Maybe…he's just a supervisor? Also, don't forget, Dumbledore would never have hired him if he weren't capable," Hermione suggested hesitantly, although Harry could still see she was not very happy with the example given about the House-elves. Tough in Harry's mind.

"I doubt that, Hermione. What would be the point of having someone like him around? He doesn't do anything. He just walks around the castle, sniping at students and threatens to whip them. If I had kids, and a bastard like that actually touched them, I would personally come into the school, and I would curse the bastard," Harry sent her a hard look to prevent even the slightest hint of an argument. "What would you do? Would you just bow your head because Filch is supported by an authority figure, or would you defend your children? I know which one I would choose."

Hermione was shocked by how he had thrown her worship of authority figures in her face.

"Y'see, I couldn't care less about how capable someone was, and I don't care who hired him; if anyone threatens my children, they are gonna answer to me," Harry leaned back and he spooned some more soup into his mouth, and then he dunked a piece of roll into his soup and ate it.

"Harry-."

"No, Hermione. I'm serious," Harry looked up, his expression dark, and both Hermione and Ron realised he was devastatingly serious. "I don't care what Filch is in this school, and I don't care if Dumbledore supports him, but I know this; he is an ungrateful, miserable excuse for a man. He has a job, but its clear as day he hates it. You can't deny that. In any case, it's obvious what he's doing right about now; he's trying to find something to take to Umbridge. That is what the meeting is gonna be about; they want to find something on me so then they will get me into trouble. That's why Umbridge has scheduled the meeting between us to coincide with the Hogsmeade weekend."

Ron nodded in understanding. "She's hoping Filch will bring something on you to her."

"Yeah," Harry personally felt it was so obvious a two-year-old would figure it out long before now; it hadn't taken him long to realise it, but judging by Hermione and Ron, they hadn't realised it before now. "Too bad it's not going to happen," Harry added.

"Why, what do you have in mind? You can't get into trouble, with Umbridge in the school backed by Fudge."

"No, I can't, but there's only so much Umbridge can do; she doesn't have the power. Fudge is still under investigation for the mess caused by the Dementors, but there is still a lot they can do. All I need to do is to keep my head down."

After he'd finished his lunch, Harry grabbed his things and he headed out with the others. "Don't worry, Filch. I'm just going to my lessons, you can tell Umbridge I'm not going to cause any problems," he said casually when he made his way out of the Hall, easily seeing the disgusting man in the corner of his eye.

Harry smirked when he saw in the corner of his eye Filch stumble about a bit before he regained his composure. It might be a petty move and it might give Umbridge some ammunition but she was looking for bigger things than something like that. But he walked off, uncaring if Filch was following him. Harry wasn't worried about Filch following him. Not only did he have other means of getting around the castle, but his privacy was assured. The idiots hadn't really thought it through. Filch was not allowed in the common rooms, never mind the dorms. All he had to do was return to his dorm and contact Dobby or Winky from there, and even if Umbridge somehow managed to get some kind of authorisation to search his trunk, which he doubted she would get given how tight the leash was on Fudge right now, he had nothing in there she could use. The invisibility cloak and the Marauder's Map were perfectly safe, and he had made sure he didn't have anything illegal. There was the chance she would frame him by planting something in his trunk, of course, but he carried his trunk with him at all times, and if she did search through his things…well, he would be watching.

X

Despite his certainty nothing would really come from this meeting, Harry was still nervous. He trusted his elves to do their jobs to burn down the brothel the Death Eaters had set up in the village, but while he knew how well this played in his favour, he didn't have a clue what Umbridge had in mind.

Taking a moment to strengthen his occlumency barriers, Harry eventually knocked on the door of Umbridge's office.

"Come in," the high-pitched grating voice that would put a Dalek to shame called out.

Harry steeled himself and walked in, and he grimaced at the amount of pink in the room. Harry had visited the DADA office many times in the past, but he knew which incarnation he preferred; at least Remus and the fake Moody had taken their role as Defence teacher seriously instead of transforming the place into what he guessed was a facsimile of Umbridge's own rooms at home, or at the Ministry. Hell, even Lockhart had nothing this lurid, this obnoxious during his tenure, even if his vanity had been both disturbing and disgusting. He held back the urge to grimace at the sight of the dried flowers in the vases, and the kittens in the plates. While he did not have a problem with cats, Harry didn't like how the kittens were portrayed here.

"Ah, Mr Potter," the toad smiled widely while narrowing her eyes in anticipation, "I have been looking forwards to this meeting for some time.."

Harry didn't bother replying to that statement.

"Nothing to say?" Umbridge seemed to take issue with his silence.

"Not really. I don't know what this meeting is about, so I can't really comment on it."

Umbridge's smile widened, although at the same time her squinty little eyes narrowed even more until he was sure she couldn't see him anymore. "Don't you?" She seemed genuinely surprised. "Why, I just wish to ask you some questions, my dear boy, in a perfectly informal setting."

Harry lifted a brow. He did not know why, but he did not like the sound of that. Something….told him, that whatever the toad had in mind for this discussion, it would be anything but a chat.

"What kind of questions?"

"Oh," she waved one of her hands with the fat little sausage fingers with the ugly rings on them airily, "just questions. I have heard a great deal about you over the years, and I wish to learn which are exaggerations and what are just lies about you."

Harry fought really hard not to tense at the sound of that. He didn't like this, not one little bit. He knew this woman wanted to take something to Fudge that would see him either locked up or given the dementor's kiss if Fudge once more demonstrated his reckless stupidity without thinking of the consequences or what would happen to his precious job. Nah, he was overthinking and exaggerating things - Fudge was under a tight leash, and the ICW would definitely make sure nothing happened to him.

"Oh, and what pray tell have you heard about me?" Harry asked.

Bad idea. The moment the question was out of his mouth, Harry could see Umbridge's smile grow wide. "That's what I like to see, eagerness for a chat!"

Not with you, bitch!

"Please sit down, Mr Potter."

I swear I can hear a funeral march, Harry thought as he took his seat while the toad stood up and walked over to a tea set. "What do you take, Mr Potter?"

While it was obvious what she was doing, Harry decided to act dumb. "I'm sorry?"

"What do you want to drink?" Umbridge looked at him in much the same way Hermione and McGonagall did, like an idiot.

"Oh, coffee, please. Three milks, two sugars."

Harry watched as the woman carefully prepared the drinks, and soon he could smell the scents of tea and coffee in the office. Umbridge had blocked off the view of her work, so he couldn't tell what she was doing. That was not good, considering what she planned to ask him.

Umbridge waddled over and handed Harry his drink while she set herself down with her own. "Thank you," Harry hoped he didn't sound grudging, but as he took hold of the cup he felt the runic alarm tattoos he had placed on his chest warn him of the potion in the cup. He had always been paranoid about potions and other control methods in the magical world, so Harry had taken precautions by tattooing runes into his chest to make sure he knew whenever someone was about to poison or potion him. He had even found a cool, nifty way of making sure Madam Pomfrey didn't detect them, but that was a story for another time.

Umbridge watched him drink the coffee for a minute with a smirk on her face. "Tell me, Mr Potter, what is your opinion of the Ministry?"

Do you mean you want my honest opinion?

"I don't think much of the Ministry at all, Professor. As long as they stay away from me, I don't care what they do."

Umbridge made a face at the answer. Clearly, she had been expecting something a bit more substantial than that. Too bad. "You and Professor Dumbledore have been spreading lies, why?"

Harry wondered how he could spin that answer. "Lord Voldemort has returned, but Fudge refuses to even take the precaution he has come back."

"He hasn't come back!" Umbridge caught herself and brought herself back under control when she yelled, but Harry sneered inwardly at the toad's likely belief the truth potion she'd just given him was faulty. He could hear her muttering about it, but she returned to her questioning; Harry guessed she was likely desperate to get answers for herself and for Fudge she was willing to use a potion she believed was faulty.

God, this woman was not only desperate, she was even thicker than he'd thought.

He only wondered how far he could push that...

"How do you know that?" Harry asked mildly. "Has there been any investigation? Have there been any disappearances that your people can't explain?"

"Be quiet!" Somehow those questions caused the woman to snap. "I will not listen to treason!"

The way he felt he didn't give a flying fuck about the British magical world to the point where he could be considered a traitor. Right now he just wanted to get out of the office. By now Malfoy and the others were at the brothel. He had given Dobby his orders, all the House-elf needed was to carry them out…

"How can it be treasonous to ask questions?" Right now he wanted to find out just how far Umbridge could be pushed without things taken too far. "Isn't it the job of any Ministry to answer questions if the people are concerned for their safety, to protect the Statute of Secrecy?"

Harry had seen many people losing their tempers before, but Umbridge was amusing really, especially since he didn't like her and how he believed she was a worthless waste of space. Umbridge seemed to blow up like a bullfrog, and she raised a hand as if to strike him (Harry hoped she crossed that line, that way he could make her life a living nightmare), but to his regret, she seemed to remember where she was and she calmed down.

It seemed to take all of Umbridge's self-control to calm down and just smile, but it was an insincere smile. "Why, of course, dear," she spat the last word as kindly as she could while making it totally fake. "It is, but there is nothing for you to worry about. You can trust the Ministry."

Why the fuck should I? Harry thought to himself when he took another sip of his coffee; actually, now he thought about it, Umbridge must have tipped a bit too much of the truth potion into his drink for it to work properly. Stupid cow. It was a simple truth of truth potions, do not ever go over the recommended drop dosages. But then again Umbridge seemed to think she could do what she liked, simply because she was Fudge's undersecretary.

Too bad she was thicker than dragon shit. There were reasons why truth potions were carefully regulated, didn't she think of that? Did she not understand how dangerous it was to overdose somebody with potions? If it wasn't for the runes burning through the worst of the potion, using up a lot of his magic in turn, she could have killed him.

Harry smirked mentally. Calmly he took a larger gulp of his coffee, but he made sure to dial down the burning down. If he could get to Madam Pomfrey and get a nice little magical report from the school nurse, and if he passed it on to the ICW investigators who were currently dissecting Fudge's administration with a very large legal comb. What happened to her then, Harry neither knew nor did he care.

Umbridge had clearly decided to change her tactics. "Tell me something, where did you go for your summer holidays?"

Harry stiffened. He had not expected the question, and it seemed a bit strange. Why was she interested in his holidays? "Why do you want to know?"

"Oh," Umbridge let out that annoying girlish giggle which had made many wonder if there was something wrong with her, but it was clear to him she was trying to appear offhanded about it, but Harry didn't bite; the question was so unexpected, so direct… "It's just there was a reported dementor attack in the area you were known to live in, and yet you were not there."

Somehow I don't believe you.

"We at the Ministry were worried about you when the dementors appeared, you may have been kissed," there was that insincerity in Umbridge's expression and her voice again. "But, luckily, you had escaped."

And yet you clearly wish I had. I can see it in your eyes, just like I can see something else…

"So where did you go?"

Harry mulled it over in his mind. "I travelled to America," he replied, fully prepared to reveal to this stupid woman he had the paperwork from the MACUSA to back him up.

"America? Why on Earth would you travel there?" Umbridge tittered scornfully.

Harry wondered why it was any of her business. "I wanted to see the sights and I had become tired of Britain."

"Yes, but why would you travel at all, to lands of uncultured barbarians?" There was that girlish, high pitched laugh of hers.

"I was fascinated by the history of some of the country, and I have wanted to see places like New York and San Francisco, and the West and Alaska for years. Why should it matter to others when it's none of their business?" Harry couldn't resist adding that question, because it was true. He was sick and tired of the magical world poking its nose into his business. Why couldn't they keep to themselves?

Umbridge didn't like that. "You are a British citizen."

"And that automatically means I shouldn't leave the country? Alright, Professor, what do you really want? Why are you even asking me these questions?" Harry knew he was making a mistake confronting the woman like that, but at the same time, he was getting heartily sick with how this 'meeting' was going nowhere. He wanted to get out of here. If the stupid woman wasn't going to speak to him properly then why bother with this, it was stupid!

Umbridge's expression turned dark. "Very well, I was hoping to have a civilised conversation with you, but it's clear the concept is beyond you. I wanted to know more about you."

As if I'd tell you anything; I haven't even told Sirius about myself and that's because he's too much of a man-child, why would I tell you?

"Alright, I'll be frank with you. You have caused the Ministry a great deal of trouble with your antics," Umbridge peered at him with narrowed eyes, speaking truthfully for the first time, "I know you were lying last year, just as you do, and I will prove it if it takes me the rest of the year."

Harry sighed. The woman had the perfect opportunity to simply ask him the right questions, and she had just wasted her time with pathetic small talk. Still, she had said she had the whole year, so there was a chance she would try this again. His suspicions about her unleashing the dementors had hardened into certainty for him. The only problem was he couldn't prove it.

Umbridge checked her watch. "You may go, Mr Potter."

Harry stood up and walked to the door.

"But I will be watching you."

Umbridge's last statement made Harry pause, wondering why the magical world had to go through the tropes for incredibly dated film noir or cartoons.

Right now he wanted to get the proof from Madam Pomfrey, but he planned on not leaving it for months. He was going to give it to the ICW as soon as he could. He mentally commanded the runes on his body not to burn the remainder of the potion. Once he had gotten it, provided that he wasn't too late, then he would find out from Dobby what had happened.

Author's note - I always wondered why Filch was even retained in Hogwarts mostly because it made little sense when there were House Elves. It doesn't help the man is miserable and surly - okay, he doesn't have magic and he's reminded of it day by day, but if he doesn't like it, why doesn't he just leave? Is he some kind of supervisor for the House-elves? That makes little sense. Neither does it make sense for him to clean the castle - the House-elves can deal with things like puddles of muddy water by clicking their fingers, while he needs a mop. So what's the point?