If Transfiguration's vastness comes from generations of witches and wizards uncovering it, then Alchemy's vastness surely comes from an unbroken stream of wild ideas.
Levitation plus a faint touch of Legilimency yields the Quick-Quotes Quill that's sold for centuries;
a Copying Charm plus a Sustaining Charm gives you Everlasting Ink;
even the Weasley twins' Canary Creams are "just" Transfiguration applied—the principle is triggering the advanced "living → living" transformation when eaten.
Of course, the twins couldn't manage that part themselves—Professor Tayra "generously" engraved it for them.
Sean could already see the next step: if you can do this, why not that?
Shark Bread—eat it and a wizard transforms into a shark and glides freely through water;
Eagle Biscuits—eat one and a wizard can fly for a short time.
Alchemy demands something very specific: heretical thinking. Its difficulty is not that it's impossible—it's that no one thinks of it.
Like the Weasleys' Anti-Jinx Hat in the books—was it truly beyond wizardry?
Wizards invented the Knight Bus—summonable, extendable, self-concealing, blisteringly fast, and drivable by a single wizard. In fact "drivable" hardly applies; as the book puts it:
[The driver didn't seem too familiar with the steering wheel; the Knight Bus kept mounting the pavement, yet hit nothing at all—rows of lamp posts, mailboxes, and dustbins jumped aside as it came and popped back into place after it passed.]
And yet with all that advanced alchemy—or alchemical magic—no one had produced an Anti-Jinx Hat?
If it were useless, the Ministry wouldn't have bought five hundred of them for its staff.
The twins even used it as a springboard to a whole line of anti-jinx gear: hats, gloves, and so on…
Maybe too few wizards study alchemy seriously; maybe wizards just don't care about invention; maybe their imagination is limited…
In short, wizards develop alchemy very little, even though it's everywhere in their lives.
Sean couldn't contain the torrent of ideas. For days he practically lived inside the twins' notes—packed with the thin theoretical underpinnings of alchemy and step-by-step ways to invent little tools.
Step one, of course, was making a proper floating quill. And he was curious about that mysterious Professor Tayra who only taught sixth and seventh years.
But more than that, he kept eyeing the panel's requirements:
Potions, Charms, Transfiguration.
He understood what Charms and Transfiguration do for alchemy—but why Potions?
November deepened with the cold; snow began to drift over Hogwarts. Each morning lay under a fine white film; the icy wind cut hands and cheeks. The sky—and the Great Hall's ceiling—were flecked with falling snow. The mountains wore white caps. The castle kept getting colder; sometimes Sean wore two sweaters and carried Hermione's blue-flame jar like a hand warmer.
Because of his alchemy work, Sean's schedule was more regular than ever; the Weasley twins could always find him.
"Great Green!"
They'd pop out from behind armor, behind portraits—even out of snowdrifts—shout it, then bolt. Only then would Sean look up—his focus glued to his notes.
"Is he… a bit too focused lately?" Outside the Hope Nook, Justin asked Hermione, a hint of concern in his voice. "I know he's always focused, but this is rare."
Hermione nodded, then glanced at the sneaking Harry and Ron—and a tall Ravenclaw prefect.
"Do we just ask, Harry?" Around the corridor corner, Ron was all worked up, huffing warm breath into the fingers peeking from his gloves. Struggling to keep his excitement down, he asked, "Did you see? When you caught the Snitch, even Hermione cheered!"
Harry looked shy—but there was a trace of agreement in his tone. "I think… Sean will let us join that group."
While they whispered, the tall Ravenclaw prefect stepped up to Sean.
"I'm Prefect Penelope Clearwater, Mr. Sean Green. I'm here to make up for an idiot's mistake."
She introduced herself first—and dropped a juicy topic. Behind her loomed several burly Ravenclaws—
"Roger, off the pitch did your eagle eyes turn into an owl's?" quipped a black-haired wizard.
Roger flushed, ready to retort—then remembered his blunder and fell silent. What had he done? Let a naturally gifted Ravenclaw Quidditch prodigy slip by for this long. The boy must have expected an invitation the moment he passed the flight test! Who doesn't love Quidditch?
"Owls are eagles, little wizard! Foolish little wizard!" a wall suddenly declared, and an owl portrait clutching parchment slid into view, making the circle of Ravenclaws flinch.
"Mr. Owl, we weren't talking about you…" The Ravenclaw plainly knew of Mr. Owl—and from their shrinking, they plainly feared him.
"I'm not an eagle?!" Mr. Owl flapped, scandalized—his spectacles slipping down his beak.
Sensing doom, the black-haired Ravenclaw scrambled to fix it: "We were talking about you—"
"You mean I have no eye?" Mr. Owl sputtered, glasses now askew.
"…No—not you—yes you—alright, not…," the poor boy stammered, growing more desperate by the second.
Now Roger Davies got to enjoy the show.
"Explain yourself, Troya—or for the next month, good luck getting through the door. Ravenclaw designed this castle!"
"Shut it, Davies! Help!" Troya yelped, breaking into a sweat. "If I can't get in, neither can you sleep! I'll knock. All. Night."
"Ha-ha-ha—" The Ravenclaws around them doubled over in laughter; a few couldn't even straighten up. The air filled with cheer.
But up front, the conversation wasn't going smoothly. Prefect Penelope frowned, choosing her words with care.
~~~
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