“Albus Severus,” Harry said quietly, so that nobody but Ginny could hear, and she was tactful enough to pretend to be waving to Rose, who was now on the train, “you were named for two headmasters of Hogwarts. One of them was a Slytherin and he was probably the greatest man I know.”
And that’s how, in her latest and what she says is her parting shot in the saga, JK Rowling finally acknowledged the greatest failing of the wizarding world she created. The four houses of Hogwarts.
These are the four houses that she – and the founders of Hogwarts, by extension – had never quite created equal. For, there was a hierarchy: Gryffindor, for those who valued valour and nobility. Ravenclaw, for those who pursued betterment of intellect. (Doesn’t this resemble the Kshatriya-Brahmin structure?) Hufflepuff, for the mostly-benign. And Slytherin, for those who were resourceful and cunning. Which is a polite manner of saying not-very-nice.
This was a rigid system. And a system that branded students based the attributes they valued at the age of eleven.
Never mind that values evolve. Choices evolve. And that eleven is no age to label a child, tangibly and unforgivingly, for life.
The Sorting Hat didn’t care about that.
Of course there were exceptions, but they were explained as outliers.
Slytherin Severus Snape’s change of heart was eventually declared a dramatic exception: for love of Lily, always. Fellow Slytherin Regulus Black’s turnaround was attributed to his fondness for his house elf. And Horace Slughorn, also a Slytherin, was reluctant and cowardly in his support of the Order of the Phoenix.
In other words, anyone from Slytherin who did something noble was a noted exception. And the rule:
"There isn't a wizard that's gone bad that wasn't in Slytherin," Hagrid said.
And you, the reader, believed it, because Rowling let you participate in her bigotry.
And one day, the system unravels
Harry Potter and the Cursed Child begins precisely where the original series ends. By questioning the rigidity of the sorting system.
At his first meal at Hogwarts, Albus Potter is placed by the Sorting Hat in Slytherin. And every day thereafter, he’s referred to as the Slytherin Son of Harry Potter.
Albus is ashamed. He views the Sorting as an indictment of himself. He interprets it as the reason his father no longer loves him. There is self-loathing. There is un-belonging.
So he decides to defy the label. To prove his worth as Harry’s son, and also in an attempt to undo the stigma of being a Slytherin, he goes off in search for an opportunity for selfless bravery. Of valour and glory (strictly Gryffindor qualities). And this sets off a series of events that becomes the plot of The Cursed Child.
At the core of this book lies Albus’s inability to accept the Sorting Hat’s decision. And there’s little surprise why.
The Sorting Hat had always been cold in its finality and harsh in its judgment.
We just hadn’t seen its ugly side yet.
What it means to Sort a people
To Sort is to tell a Hufflepuff, at the outset of her magical career, that she is worthless, but in an amiable sort of way. It is to tell an eleven-year-old Slytherin – not to mention everybody she knows – that she can be exploitative. It is to publicly laud a Gryffindor for being brave. And to tell a Ravenclaw that his most prized possession is his intellect.
This could lead to the making of a self-fulfilling prophecy. Gryffindors, living and learning among Gryffindors, may become increasingly prone to reckless acts of bravado. Slytherins will likely accentuate a culture of manipulation and trickery. Hufflepuffs may learn to expect even less of themselves as they go along. Ravenclaws might recede deeper and deeper into more contemplative pursuits.
Each becomes more likely to perform the duties accorded to them by the Sorting Hat. The labels may entrench them, engulf them, sometimes tell them untruths about themselves. Till they become difficult, sometimes impossible, to outgrow.
And then they separate
A Gryffindor has much to gain from a Slytherin friend. A lesson in pragmatism, for starters. And a Slytherin could learn a thing or two about being agreeable from a Hufflepuff. A Ravenclaw might need a Gryffindor friend to lend a sense of adventure. A Hufflepuff could learn a lesson on how not to be taken for granted from anyone else.
And yet, the four Houses not only label, but they also segregate. Gryffindors go to classes and share dormitories with Gryffindors, when what they need most is exposure to other kinds of people. Likewise, with the other three houses.
There are no countering forces. Each house creates an eco-system with its own distinct ethos, and these grow perversely in isolation. Ideologies go unchallenged. Behavioural traits, however awful, get reaffirmed. The Ying is systematically separated from its Yang. And that’s the Hogwarts that Rowling built.
The curse of the Sorting Hat
Is it not a flaw in the Potterverse that an institution like Hogwarts – which segregates and separates – can thrive. Should it? The Cursed Child, with its premise built on the unhappy Sorting of Albus Potter, can be read as an acknowledgement of this realisation. Perhaps it represents a tacit acceptance of the flaw. Maybe, with this book, Rowling decided that it was time to address it.
There are many failings in her last tryst with Harry Potter, but lack of self-awareness is not one of them.
