Even within the entire history of Transfiguration, Animagus is a landmark.
If a wizard thinks all it takes is good luck to finish the rite, he's gravely mistaken.
For example: if, while silently reciting the incantation and visualizing the steps of transformation, the wizard's will to transform isn't strong enough, then during Animagus practice he may lose control and be unable to turn back into a normal human.
For example: at the end, the wizard will feel intense pain and two fierce heartbeats. The mind will fill with the image of the creature about to emerge. If he cannot face it without fear, then it's already too late to escape the promised change.
In short, this is a long ritual magic.
Its length and severity make it ill-suited to complete alone. Even the firmest resolve lapses.
James and the others, for instance, managed it by supporting one another; Professor McGonagall, for another, was guided through by Headmaster Dumbledore.
So when they left the Transfiguration office, McGonagall told him they must have all materials prepared and choose a careful time.
In addition, she gave him a personal set of notes and told Sean to finish reading them as soon as possible.
So Sean got busy again.
He had to choose mid-tier alchemical materials, learn more difficult runes, and memorize the notebook quickly, to ensure there'd be no mistakes during Animagus.
In the Hope Nook.
Sean found himself in a rare bind: only after unlocking affinity with Mrs. Norris did he realize how arduous it is for a wizard to turn into a magical creature.
First, the usual materials can't bear such a task, and many runes can't produce enough effect.
Second, beyond those basics, a wizard's own magic and a magical creature's magic are in conflict—almost irreconcilable. This may well be the real reason a wizard's Animagus cannot be a magical creature.
Likewise, to date, Transfiguration has produced no magic that turns a wizard into a magical creature.
Even Sean's owl was an owl with the "magical creature" stripped away.
Finally, there's the problem of sustaining will—insufficient base materials, magical conflict, lapse of will: the three together told Sean his current research seemed never to have existed in wizarding history.
He was on a road no ancient wizard had walked.
The fiercer that thought became, the brighter the fire in the grate burned.
In truth, Sean already had many ideas.
Magic should be bound by a single primal thread.
If Potions has Polyjuice—keeping reason and allowing a wizard to wield magic—why can't alchemy do the same?
Sean slowly took out a slip:
[Miranda Goshawk—that old (struck out) witch—wrote in The Book of Spells:
Where wizards have a need, a spell will arise; if not, it simply hasn't been discovered yet.
And now I assert: where wizards have a need, a potion will arise; if not, the recipe simply hasn't been found.]
And silently Sean added—where wizards have a need, an alchemical construct will arise; if not, it simply hasn't been discovered.
Magic is, at its core, an idealist force.
So he packed up his questions and went to seek Professor Tayra to study more arcane ancient runes.
There were more Hufflepuffs peering around the corridors these days. Sean set down the biscuit in his hand and quickly stepped out into the hall.
At the end of the corridor, a headless wizard in a cloak suddenly ran out from under a portrait.
"Fred," Sean greeted politely, and moved to slip past them toward the alchemy office.
"Amazing! I had the Headless Hat on and didn't even speak—yet you recognized me?"
Fred took off the hat and his head reappeared.
"I'll wager Mum wouldn't know him," George chimed in.
In their hands were Headless Hats—one of their prank products—pointed caps with pink feathers that make the wearer's head (hat included) disappear.
Sean stared for a moment at Fred's jumper: a blue jumper with a big yellow "F".
"Alright, we mean—about… Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes," George said, eyes shining, pulling out a short letter boldly signed Green.
"Mm." Sean nodded.
"You're not even going to ask how many Galleons?!" Fred yelped.
"How many?" Sean asked.
"A thousand—no—eight hundred! You know… we want to go to Diagon Alley," George said, a little sheepish.
"Mm," Sean nodded.
"What?!" the twins cried together. "You agree?!"
Seamless as ever, they spoke as one.
Sean felt odd—after all their pestering, now that he agreed, they hardly dared accept it.
"We all know Galleons don't come easy…" George said, eyes wide. "Even if we're close as brothers—even if you're Great Green—we've only known each other a term!"
Fred tried to explain, but there was no explaining.
"I agree," Sean repeated. He felt like he'd known them longer than a term.
"You… trust us? George—am I crying?"
"Check yourself—I can't see, Fred," George said from under the Headless Hat.
"You really trust us? Even though we've never run a shop, don't have enough products yet, might waste your Galleons?" they pressed.
"Always," Sean said, gaze forward, a money bag floating from his satchel as he left the corridor.
"Great Green—your friend Fred offers you his most loyal respect!" someone shouted behind him.
"Great Green—your friend George will always follow your will!" came another.
Sean lengthened his stride, pretending he hadn't heard, and left with a light step.
Dinner may be casual—but one's words should not be!
Deeper in the corridor—
Most of the crowd around the black-cat statue were Hufflepuffs. Sunlight through the stained glass lit a quiet oil portrait of a young girl.
Under the frame stood the long-bearded wizard, eyes full of deep amusement—and a flash of surprise.
He admitted—it wasn't the first time he'd misjudged.
The Lucky Black Cat—was that it?
~~~
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