Every listicle about which Star Wars characters go in which Hogwarts houses is bullshit. They always make Leia a Ravenclaw or a Gryffindor. Leia is a Slytherin. She was raised a princess but even that wasn’t enough for her, she was like “I’m gonna overthrow the government, bitches.”
And Han Solo is not a bad-ass Slytherin, he is a Hufflepuff, because every five minutes he is dropping his own agenda to help his friends not die doing whatever crazy shit they’re about to do.
The biggest Gryffindor in the whole trilogy is R2D2, because every beep of his can basically be translated as “Hold my beer and watch this,” usually followed by him getting zapped by something and falling over.
I say this because I don’t think I could have imagined it at a young age. Harry Potter will always be important to be because it’s what got me through tough times in my childhood. I can go as far to say as it helped stave off thoughts of suicide and hurting myself through middle school. It was the thing I turned to when everything in my life seemed inescapably awful- I was scared and unhappy at home, I was friendless and bullied at school (actually my obsession with Harry Potter ended up being one of the things I was bullied about eventually but it’s kind of a cycle there), it was my only escape.
J.K. Rowling is largely what inspired me to become a writer. I believe I was considering it before I got into Harry Potter, but that’s what really cemented it. I wanted to make someone happy the way these books made me happy, I wanted to transport them into my narrative and have it matter to them the way this mattered to me. Learning J.K. Rowling’s story made me feel like I could do it, I could be successful, that I could follow my passion. When my sixth grade teacher said women weren’t good at writing fantasy, I was able to tell him he was wrong because look at her! Look at what she did! I really decided to be a writer after reading Harry Potter at age nine and I’ve followed that dream doggedly since.
As I grew, I became able to view the books more objectively and acknowledge their flaws, but they’ll always matter to me in a deep intense way. It was my first fandom, the first thing I wrote fic for, the reason I even started participating in internet stuff (and people on HP communities like ThinkPotter were also what helped me get through those times- I recently found a scrapbook I made when I was thirteen and there is several pages devoted to chatlogs from these people giving me encouragement that I sorely needed, and Harry Potter memorabilia).
So it’s strange to find myself looking at her and feeling sad..Seeing her being so wrong-headed and appropriative of Native American culture, seeing her being so lazy and sloppy in various things, the possibility the Cursed Child is actually that bad- it’s more than being knocked down from a pedestal because that naturally happened when I grew up, now it’s two parts of myself at war, one that will always see her as an inspiration because it was her example that helped me do what I’m doing, and one that wants to turn away, disonnect and sees her as an example of what not to do.
Growing up is weird and having idols is weird. As JKR digs herself deeper, I just wish she would stop, something I could never have imagined asking her to do as a child. If the Cursed Child spoilers are accurate, I’ll have to treat it as entirely disconnected from the books I love and since I’m usually not a “death of the author” person it will be odd. Seeing the mess she’s making with Fantastic Beasts is just a very odd thing where I have to balance the fact that this is wrong and bad with the innate pull towards all things Harry Potter because of everything.
There’s a lot of mixed up feelings and it’s hard to really define them. But it is probably a good thing, I guess, to learn to reconcile these things and acknowledge the wrong and hurt coming from a source that once healed me,.
I was chatting with my wife the other day about fandom’s fascination with sorting every character in the universe into Hogwarts houses, and she commented that it’s only to be expected. It’s a shared reference point across most of Western culture, after all. In fact, she said, it’s basically this generation ’s Star Wars in terms of cultural saturation and formative childhood experience.
If so, I suppose it’s only natural that eventually JK would pull a Lucas and bork it all up.
does anyone else notice how misinterpreted the houses are?
like why are slytherins refered to as being ‘edgy bad chicks/guys’ and ‘sex gods/goddesses’ when it’s their house, of all four houses, that values traditionalism?
why are hufflepuffs described as relaxed hippies who prefer to chill and eat cookies all day when their house is the one that values hard work?
why do people think ravenclaws are stuck-up and boring bookish nerds when literally the only personality traits you have to possess to be a ravenclaw are creativity, wit, wisdom, acceptance, originality, intelligence and individuality?
why are gryffindors depicted as brash, rude rulebreakers when chivalry is so important to them?
oh lordy, thank you for this post because I could have never made one as well-written. While sure, the aesthetics are pretty and all, but they hardly ever accurate.
Sensibly Named Child: Dad, what if the hat puts me in Slytherin?
Neville: Then it means you really are a Slytherin. Do you have any idea how hard I begged to be a Hufflepuff? How hard I argued with the hat against Gryffindor? And you know what, it turns out the hat was right and I pulled the sword out of the hat and killed the snake. It’s a magical hat and you’re an eleven year old who thinks Axe works to attract girls. You know nothing, listen to the hat.
Draco Malfoy was pure. He knew his place- at the top of the food chain, knew the rest of the world lay under his feet. He was one of the best, of the important, a family of survivors who were loyal to the Dark Lord. He started school with a smirk on his face, knowing already how the year would pan out. He would be worshipped by those also in the Dark Lords circles, feared by those that knew the history and hated by everyone else. He was a Malfoy, and they were always the best.
Draco Malfoy was safe. That was what his father told him before he stepped on the train, anyway, and Draco did not know what it meant. Not until the words appeared on the wall and students started turning up frozen where they stood. Safe, his father told him in the letters full of questions, because he was one of the pure. But with the worry of someone turning up dead, Draco was starting to wonder if Pure Bloods were the most filthy of all.
Draco Malfoy was desolate. He wanted to blame the dementors that surrounded the school, but it was not all them. No. It was the anger in his fathers face as he stood on the platform, the whispered conversations Draco had not meant to hear about Sirius Black. It was the thought that once more, their school was unsafe, and it was because of a past and a loyalty his parents had. A past that was becoming more and more real every year, and the older Draco became, the sadder he was- because he knew he could not break away from what his father wanted him to be. What the world thought him to be.
Draco Malfoy was worried. There were rumours and whispers and strangers in his school, and something was wrong. The Dark Lord was rising again, that was what the whispers were. There were traitors in the school and friends in the school and he no longer knew which was which. Who was who. There were competitions and journalists and arguments. And death.
Draco Malfoy was lost. His aunt had escaped from Azkaban along with some other Death Eaters, and while his parents were happy, Draco did not share that joy. Hogwarts was no longer his sanctuary away from family- those he called friends were now watching his every move, waiting to report back to get him into trouble. And the ministry was there too, digging their feet into where they did not belong- and for the first time, Draco agreed with Potter; they needed to know how to protect themselves, and they were not being allowed. And Draco could not even let his thoughts show- he was a perfect Slytherin, a leader for Umbridge, and had to pretend that everything was fine.
Draco Malfoy was scared. There was a mark on his arm he never wanted, a threat above his head that could come crashing down, and a task at hand that he knew he would never manage. Once this had been all he wished, to be just like his father, but now, it was nothing like he dreamed, now all he wanted to do was destroy the mark, erase his name and run from the life his parents carved out for him.
Draco Malfoy was broken. There was nothing left. No Death Eaters, no Dark Lord, no Dumbledore or anyone to protect him. Apart from the Chosen One- and he would do nothing else, not when Draco had spent the last six years trying to destroy him. He was tired of fighting and afraid of war, and death called to him with every curse that was thrown his way. Draco didn’t even know which side he was fighting for anymore, and he didn’t think it really mattered in the end. Not when he had never had a choice, from the moment he was born to the moment his parents called him to their sides when he was standing with the students he had spent seven years watching become the heroes when he was one of the villains.
Waiting for Winter 