Two days after my last post, my Pottermore email arrived. And in a classic case of 'Be careful what you wish for, you might just get it', I don't want it anymore.
The reason: Sorting.
The reason: Sorting.
Now believe me, I'm already feeling horribly ungrateful enough, without vomiting another splurge of neurosis at you, but I can't help myself. Proving what a spoilt little brat I am, instead of being concerned with the situation in Libya, or the potential devastation Hurricane Irene may be about to wreak on the East Coast of America, I'm having sleepless nights over the possibility I might not get sorted into the house I've always felt aligned with.
In my heart, I'm a Slytherin. Not because I think I'm evil, or dark, or a bit of a bad gal. But because of their ambition and ability to get the job done, come what may. I am the person you come to if you need to find a way to do something. Because I find a way. You might not always like my methods but I get it done. I'm also very good at getting my own way. I can be cunning. Very cunning. Possibly manipulative. I have traits of other houses, sure. I can be reckless about things, I'm ridiculously loyal if I care about someone and I like to understand the concept behind things. But Slytherin is home. I live in a metaphorical dungeon of scheming.
And here I am, faced with the prospect the last ten years of my life have been a lie.
How do you cope with that? Because, to the outside world, all the Sorting House Trauma must seem a bit silly. It's only an online quiz, after all. A set of questions teamed with random codes and algorithms which, depending on your answers, allocate you a house. It doesn't look into your soul. So why on earth would it cause an upset?
Because Jo wrote these questions. And that makes them pretty darn definitive in almost everyone's book.
Over the past few days, I've seen my friends go though the Sorting process and so many of them are confused about where they've ended up. Houses they've never had any affiliation with before. How is this possible? They are literally going through the Kübler-Ross grief model.
Denial: This is wrong. It has to be. This can't be right. This is not who I am.
In my heart, I'm a Slytherin. Not because I think I'm evil, or dark, or a bit of a bad gal. But because of their ambition and ability to get the job done, come what may. I am the person you come to if you need to find a way to do something. Because I find a way. You might not always like my methods but I get it done. I'm also very good at getting my own way. I can be cunning. Very cunning. Possibly manipulative. I have traits of other houses, sure. I can be reckless about things, I'm ridiculously loyal if I care about someone and I like to understand the concept behind things. But Slytherin is home. I live in a metaphorical dungeon of scheming.
And here I am, faced with the prospect the last ten years of my life have been a lie.
How do you cope with that? Because, to the outside world, all the Sorting House Trauma must seem a bit silly. It's only an online quiz, after all. A set of questions teamed with random codes and algorithms which, depending on your answers, allocate you a house. It doesn't look into your soul. So why on earth would it cause an upset?
Because Jo wrote these questions. And that makes them pretty darn definitive in almost everyone's book.
Over the past few days, I've seen my friends go though the Sorting process and so many of them are confused about where they've ended up. Houses they've never had any affiliation with before. How is this possible? They are literally going through the Kübler-Ross grief model.
Denial: This is wrong. It has to be. This can't be right. This is not who I am.
Anger: What the fuck is this? It's fucking wrong. I am not this. This is bullshit.
Bargaining: Does anyone have a spare account? Does anyone want to swap? Please!
Depression: I'm not doing this anymore. I'm not interested. It's ruining the HPverse for me.
Acceptance: Well, I guess I’m stuck here. Shit.
And it’s completely understandable that people are reacting this way. Unless you’re very new to the books, the chances are you’ve spent years identifying with a house. It may have even shaped how you’ve grown as a person. You’ll have spent hundreds of pounds buying merchandise that reflects your house. You’ll have been drawn into arguments, some fun and some serious, about each house and their qualities. You’ll have been to meet-ups and logged into forums and told people proudly where you’re from. You've bought and worn the school uniform. Imagine after ten years of thinking something is true, it’s suddenly not. You’ve been living a lie. You are not who you thought you were. And, bearing in mind that for a lot of people, the HPverse is the only place they feel truly accepted, this is a very traumatic experience.
Imagine suddenly finding out you were adopted. The family you thought were yours, aren’t. I know Pottermore isn’t even on a par to that level of life-altering news, but the emotional response is still the same. People are having to cope with the fact that there is a possibility they’ve misjudged themselves. That they don’t know themselves. Could you handle that?
Imagine suddenly finding out you were adopted. The family you thought were yours, aren’t. I know Pottermore isn’t even on a par to that level of life-altering news, but the emotional response is still the same. People are having to cope with the fact that there is a possibility they’ve misjudged themselves. That they don’t know themselves. Could you handle that?
Because I couldn’t. So I’m not sure I’m going to go through with this Sorting thing. I don’t want to discover that everything I think I am is a lie.
In the books, the hat looked into your mind and saw not only who you are, but who you could be . People were often placed in the same house as their family members had been. In Pottermore, it seems that your wand firstly allocates your house, and then the following questions work from that to narrow the field down and confirm it. It’s an interesting system.
I don’t want to lose faith in this part of my life. So I’m either not going through with it, thereby remaining blissfully unaware of any secret parts of me, or I’m going to give someone my login and let them do it for me. That way, it’s not me. I don’t have to torture myself with the result.
