Author's Note: I never intended to make this fic into a series; it began as a one-shot about Harry not having a scar and the difficulties he would have convincing everyone of who he really was, but then I got three people who put this story on alert, so I kept writing for those people. Thanks so much to houguilter, SweetSmiles, Tina1587, and elven-jewel-18 (who didn't put it on alert but that was only because I print the chapters out for her and my other school friends to read). I have gotten an alarming response to this fic (430 views! WOW!) but NO ONE HAS REVIEWED! It is for this reason that I have decided to make this the final chapter of Harry Potter and the Doubted Identity... unless I can get some reviews! PLEASE REVIEW! I HAVE PLANS FOR THIS FIC BUT I WANT TO KNOW THAT PEOPLE ACTUALLY LIKE IT SO I KNOW I'M NOT WASTING MY TIME ON THIS FIC! If enough people review, I have decided to carry this fic all the way through Harry's first year. Again: PLEASE REVIEW!

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For the next two months, Malfoy seemed a bit bi-polar in the way he acted towards Harry. Sometimes Malfoy would stand up for Harry, other times he would make fun of him to the other Slytherins. Harry began to wonder whether Malfoy was actually his ally or not… surely an ally would stand up for you no matter how abysmal your Shrinking Solution turned out to be…

Well, Harry thought, at least Professor Dumbledore's managed to convince all of the teachers that I really am Harry Potter…even if none of the students believe me yet.

Despite the whispers of "traitor" and "imposter" that seemed to follow Harry no matter where he went, Harry seemed to be doing well in all of his classes. Only Professor Snape seemed to have a problem with him, singling him out to answer impromptu questions about things the class hadn't been taught yet, test his potion on a plant or stray animal, or just as a target of general torture.

On the other hand, there was one teacher that Harry couldn't get out of his head: his Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Quirrel. Although this teacher had been the one with the weird turban on Harry's first day at Hogwarts, the poor guy couldn't utter a single sentence without stuttering. Because of this, no student ever really took him seriously; the only student to really take notes in his classes. But Harry's issues with Professor Quirrel seemed to go beyond his stuttering; whenever Harry was around the teacher, his hand would immediately fly to his forehead, as if instinctively preventing pain from starting there. But this didn't seem normal, since Harry had never gotten a headache in Professor Quirrel's presence… so why did his hand just fly to his forehead like that? Did the thought of another Defense Against the Dark Arts class just make Harry want to slap himself?

Harry was telling Ron and Hermione about his strange reaction to the insecure professor on their way back to the corridor one slightly chilly night in November. "Why do you think that keeps happening?" Harry asked his friends, hoping for some insightful reasoning from Hermione.

However, Hermione had no insightful advice to give. She just shrugged and said, confused: "Maybe you just instinctively don't like the guy."

"So I cover my forehead?" Harry asked disbelievingly. "Somehow I find that unlikely."

Ron stopped walking suddenly, a look of inspiration on his face. "I've got it!" he said loudly, a big grin starting to stretch across his face. "Maybe…" But then Ron's face fell. "I lost it. Sorry, mate." Ron's face turned red when his two friends started laughing hysterically at him.

A loud meow! ended the laughter, and the trio looked up to find Mrs. Norris, Filch's cat, glaring at them from across the corridor. The three were out of bed past curfew, Madame Pince having just kicked them out of the library after a long night of studying—Harry and Ron having been dragged into it by Hermione. Knowing what would happen if Filch caught them out of bed past curfew, the three of them ran blindly towards the staircase, going up towards the seventh floor. When they got to the top of that flight of stairs, the group found themselves on the third floor and would have continued running up the stairs if they hadn't heard Filch's voice calling for his precious cat—coming right down the stairs they needed to ascend!

Harry pulled Ron and Hermione down the forbidden corridor, trying to hide in one of the classrooms. All of the doors seemed locked until Hermione ran to a random one and, pointing at the handle, whispered "Alohomora!" The door unlocked magically, allowing the three friends to hide in the classroom, shutting the door soundly behind them.

They were just panting their relief, even starting to laugh a bit, when Harry felt the strong wind on his back. There shouldn't be wind in a classroom, Harry though apprehensively, turning around to see a giant, three-headed dog sniffing the three intruders. Harry patted Ron and Hermione on the shoulders, bringing their attention to the giant animal in front of them. The three imperiled friends watched the dog (or was it dogs?) sniff them curiously, until, raising its head in a growl, it decided that the three were not friends.

"AHHHHHH!" Harry screamed, vaguely hearing Ron and Hermione's voices intermingled with his own. Harry opened the door and yanked his friends out of the classroom, shutting the door firmly on the nose of one of the heads of the gigantic creature inside. Not caring if Filch actually caught up to them or not, the three ran up the stairs to the portrait of the Fat Lady, yelling the password ("FORBANNELSE!") to gain entry into the common room.

"What was THAT?" Harry yelled as soon as he had crawled through the portrait hole.

Ron took Harry and shook him. "What was that? That was a three-headed dog, Harry!"

Hermione stopped Ron from shaking Harry to death and stood between them, one hand on a shoulder of each of her friends. "We already know what it is," she told them in a fairly sensible voice, considering how badly she was trembling. "What we need to be asking is what it was guarding."

"Guarding?" Harry and Ron shouted at their friend. "What makes you think it was guarding something?"

Hermione looked at each of her friends in turn, giving them stern looks. "Honestly, don't you two look anywhere but at what's right in front of you?" The faces of the two boys went blank, and Hermione knew they hadn't understood her. "The dog was standing over a trap door!" she told them in a frustrated voice.

For a moment the two boys stood staring at Hermione, before Ron, brushing Hermione's hand off of his shoulder, said in an unconcerned voice, "That's ridiculous, Hermione! Why would anyone want to guard something with a three-headed dog at a school with Dumbledore as a headmaster?" Hermione tried to respond with what looked to be a long-winded explanation, but Ron interrupted. "Well, I'm going to bed now. See you both in the morning!" And then Ron ran up the stairs to the boys' dormitory.

Harry stayed down for a moment, covering a yawn. "So what do you think it's guarding?" Harry asked Hermione after the yawn had ended.

Hermione took her hand off Harry's shoulder and stretched, bringing her arms all the way back until her shoulder blades prevented them from going any farther, and answered tiredly, "I have no clue. I'll do some research tomorrow, but I don't know what I'll find with a search criteria of 'three-headed dogs guarding trap doors in classrooms.'"

Harry laughed and wished his friend good-night, telling her that at least she had been observant enough to notice the trap door in the first place. Hermione beamed at this and hugged her friend before going upstairs to the girls' dormitory. Harry ascended to the boy's dormitory and, not even bothering to change into his pajamas, lied down to go to sleep. I'll think about all this tomorrow, Harry thought before his dreams pulled him towards images of penguins clog-dancing to Ron's paper harmonica music.