Hearing the request, Sirius turned to Alan. "Is that alright with you, Alan?"
Alan didn't mind at all; in fact, he was quite eager to see the inner workings of the Order of the Phoenix. He nodded. "No problem."
Dumbledore's face in the flames softened. "A straightforward young man. This makes me even more certain of the authenticity of the report. Thank you, Alan."
Alan remained composed. "You flatter me, Professor. I'm simply protecting my own interests. After all, I am a Muggle-born wizard."
"A humble perspective. Then it's settled. I'll notify you tomorrow; the location remains the same." After Dumbledore finished speaking, his image flickered and vanished from the hearth.
"Alright, Alan, get some rest," Sirius said, stretching and letting out a hearty laugh. "I'll take you there myself tomorrow."
Alan nodded, but his mind wasn't on the war. He was thinking about the communication magic Sirius had just used. It seemed incredibly efficient, and he wondered about its limitations. He made a mental note to learn it from Sirius when the timing was right.
The next morning, Sirius looked as though he hadn't slept well. Because Alan had respected his privacy and left the master bedroom untouched, Sirius had returned to a room that was still dusty and cluttered. After spending the evening in the pristine, fresh environment of the living room, he found he could no longer tolerate the state of his own quarters.
Sirius walked downstairs, rubbing a stiff neck. He was immediately greeted by a rich, savory aroma. The dining table was set with a hearty breakfast, but Alan was nowhere to be seen. Sirius opened the back door and found the boy in the small courtyard.
Alan was moving through a series of complex maneuvers, his punches cutting through the air with a sharp "whoosh." Sirius had never seen such physical discipline and stood in the doorway, momentarily mesmerized.
Alan finished a set of Tongbei Quan, centered his weight, and exhaled slowly to steady his breathing. He noticed Sirius yawning behind him. "Woke up late, I see. Aren't you hungry? You've been standing there a while."
"I usually don't bother with breakfast," Sirius said, wiping a stray tear from another yawn. "By the way, Alan, what kind of dance was that? It looked incredibly sharp."
Alan decided it wasn't worth explaining the nuances of martial arts to him. "Just think of it as exercise. Now, are you going to eat, or should I clear the table?"
"Eat! Of course I'm eating! I only skip it because there's usually no one to make it," Sirius said quickly. Alan rolled his eyes; the man was truly lazy to his core.
Near noon, a signal arrived from Dumbledore via the fireplace. Alan had already changed into clean robes. Sirius didn't waste any time; he gripped Alan's arm and Apparated them away.
They reappeared in a dilapidated alley. Sirius scanned the area for witnesses before leading Alan to a weathered wooden door. He pressed his wand against the wood and muttered a low incantation. A phoenix pattern flared briefly on the surface, and the door clicked open.
Sirius led him through a backyard and into a building that smelled of old brick and damp wood. They descended a flight of stairs behind a hidden door, arriving in a dimly lit basement. It didn't look like a revolutionary headquarters; with its large wooden table, mismatched chairs, and rows of old barrels, it looked more like the forgotten storage room of a run-down pub.
Several people were already seated. Dumbledore sat at the head of the table, flanked by Mad-Eye Moody. Next to Moody sat an elegant witch who appeared to be in her late twenties. On the other side were two men: a dignified, stout wizard with a full beard and a wide jaw, and a brawny young man with short reddish-brown hair and a friendly, open expression.
Dumbledore smiled as they entered. "Good afternoon, Sirius, Alan. It seems everyone has arrived. Let's begin."
*Everyone?* Alan was taken aback. Including Sirius and himself, there were only six people in the room. He had expected a massive assembly. He took the seat next to Sirius.
"Alan, you've met Moody," Sirius whispered, introducing the group. "Next to him is Emmeline Vance. The man with the beard is Edgar Bones, and beside him is Gideon Prewett. Everyone, this is Alan Wilson."
Alan offered a polite nod, which the others returned with varying degrees of curiosity.
"Ha! I knew you were a brave lad when we met in the alley," Moody barked, "but I didn't expect you to go looking for Death Eaters again so soon. Are young people today simply unafraid of death?"
Alan replied calmly, "It is because I fear death that I refuse to hide from it. In a climate like this, those who try to avoid the conflict are usually the first to become victims. Closing one's eyes and hoping for the best is the most dangerous thing one can do for their own safety, isn't it?"
The room went quiet for a moment as the adults re-evaluated the boy sitting before them.
Dumbledore nodded in approval. "Do you see, Alastor? It seems the younger generation is proving more perceptive than many of our peers." The others murmured in agreement.
"Then let us return to the matter at hand," Moody said, his magical eye fixed on Alan. "Could you explain exactly what you heard?"
Alan recounted the information he had gathered from Rozier, detailing the rumor of a Christmas attack orchestrated by the Wilkes family. The members of the Order listened in grim silence.
When he finished, Dumbledore looked at him thoughtfully. "And tell me, Alan, what is your own opinion on this matter?"