The Animagus transformation is a monumental milestone in the history of Transfiguration.
Any wizard who thinks it's just a matter of getting lucky with the ritual is dead wrong.
For instance, when silently chanting the incantation and visualizing the transformation process, a wizard needs an ironclad will. If their resolve wavers, they could lose control during practice, getting stuck in a form that's no longer human.
Then, at the final stage, the wizard feels intense pain and two pounding heartbeats. Their mind conjures the creature they're about to become. If they show even a hint of fear, it's too late to escape the promised change.
All in all, it's a long and grueling ritual magic.
Its length and rigor make it nearly impossible for a wizard to complete alone. Even the most determined can falter. Take James Potter and his friends—they got through it by supporting each other. Or Professor McGonagall, who was guided by Dumbledore himself to complete her Animagus transformation.
So, when Sean left the Transfiguration office, McGonagall stressed that they needed to gather all the necessary materials and pick a careful time. She also handed him a notebook filled with her personal insights, urging him to read it as soon as possible.
And just like that, Sean was swamped again.
Not only did he need to select materials for intermediate alchemy and study complex runes, but he also had to memorize McGonagall's notes to ensure his Animagus transformation went off without a hitch.
In the Room of Requirement, Sean hit a rare roadblock. After earning Mrs. Norris's affection, he realized just how daunting it was to transform into a magical creature.
First, the usual materials couldn't handle the task, and many runes lacked the power needed. Second, and more critically, a wizard's magic clashed with a magical creature's magic—an almost irreconcilable conflict. This was likely why no wizard had ever become an Animagus of a magical creature.
Even Sean's owl transformation was just a regular owl, stripped of any "Fantastic Beast" qualities. And then there was the issue of maintaining a wizard's will—insufficient materials, magical conflicts, and faltering resolve. These three challenges made Sean realize he was chasing something unprecedented in wizarding history.
He was walking a path no ancient wizard had ever tread.
The more he thought about it, the fiercer the fireplace flames seemed to burn.
Sean had plenty of ideas, though. Magic, at its core, was connected by a single thread of origin.
If the Potions field could produce something like Polyjuice Potion—allowing a wizard to keep their mind and use magic—why couldn't alchemy do the same?
Sean slowly pulled out a piece of paper:
[Miranda Goshawk, that old—(crossed out) wizard, wrote in The Book of Spells:
When a wizard has a need, a spell will arise. If it doesn't exist, it simply hasn't been discovered yet.
And now I declare: when a wizard has a need, a potion will arise. If it doesn't exist, its recipe simply hasn't been discovered.]
Sean quietly added his own thought: When a wizard has a need, an alchemical creation will arise. If it doesn't exist, it simply hasn't been discovered.
Magic, after all, was a force of will.
With his questions in hand, Sean set off to find Professor Terra to study advanced ancient runes.
The corridors had been buzzing with curious Hufflepuffs lately. Sean set down his cookie and hurried into the hallway. At the end, a headless wizard in a flowing robe burst out from under a portrait.
"Fred, my man," Sean said politely, ready to slip past and head to the Alchemy office.
"That's wild! I'm wearing a Headless Hat, didn't even say a word, and you still knew it was me?" Fred canceled the spell, his head reappearing instantly.
"I bet even Mum wouldn't recognize me," George chimed in.
They were holding their latest prank invention: a pointed hat adorned with pink feathers that made the wearer's head (and the hat) vanish completely.
Sean glanced at Fred's sweater for a second—a blue one with a big yellow "F" on it.
"Okay, fine, we wanted to talk about… Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes," George said, his eyes sparkling as he pulled out a short letter signed with a bold "Green."
"Hm," Sean nodded.
"You're not gonna ask how many Galleons we need?" Fred blurted out.
"How many?" Sean asked.
"A thousand—no, eight hundred! You know, we're thinking Diagon Alley," George said, a bit sheepish.
"Hm," Sean nodded again.
"What?!" the twins shouted in unison.
"You're agreeing?!" they said, perfectly synchronized.
Sean found it odd. The Weasleys had been hounding him for weeks, but now that he agreed, they seemed hesitant to accept.
"We know Galleons don't grow on trees…" George said, wide-eyed.
"Even though we're tight like brothers, even though you're the great Green… we've only known you for a term!" Fred tried to explain, fumbling for words.
"I agree," Sean repeated. It felt like he'd known them for more than just a term.
"You… trust us? Am I crying, George?" Fred said, feeling something cool on his face.
"Check yourself, I can't see, Fred," George replied, already hidden under the Headless Hat.
"You really trust us? Even though we've never run a shop, our products are limited, and we might blow through your Galleons?" the twins asked together.
"Always have," Sean said, staring ahead as a bag floated out of his pack and he left the corridor.
"Great Green—your friend Fred offers his most loyal respect!" he heard Fred shout behind him.
"Great Green—your friend George will follow your will forever!" George added.
Sean quickened his pace, pretending not to hear, and left the corridor with light steps. You could eat dinner carelessly, but words like that? You didn't toss them around.
Deep in the corridor, Hufflepuffs gathered around the black cat statue. Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, illuminating a portrait of a quiet girl. A long-bearded wizard stood beneath it, his eyes holding a deep smile and a flicker of surprise.
He'd admit, he'd misjudged more than once.
A lucky black cat, wasn't it?