Alan was deeply intrigued by the concept of the Patrolling Hit Wizard. In his long-term plan, he wanted to see the world after graduating from Hogwarts—perhaps a magical trek across various continents. If he could obtain such a certificate, it would provide a legitimate cover and even allow him to earn extra gold should he encounter Dark Wizards during his travels.
He questioned Frank about the application process and was surprised to find that the certificate was issued quite casually. As long as one submitted an application to the Department of International Magical Cooperation and possessed a clean criminal record, approval was almost a certainty.
As for why the application went through International Cooperation rather than Magical Law Enforcement, it was a matter of history; the profession had first emerged within the Magical Congress of the United States. Once the International Confederation of Wizards recognized the role, it spread to other nations as a way to alleviate the pressure on local law enforcement. Of course, the fine print remained: if a bounty hunter caused collateral damage during a pursuit, they were subject to arrest and repatriation by the local Ministry.
Despite these interesting diversions, Alan remained deeply unsettled by the state of the war. The intelligence gap between the two sides was staggering. If this world didn't follow the hazy memories of his past life—where the Dark Lord was defeated by a baby—Britain might be doomed to a decade of grinding conflict. He didn't know if Dumbledore's protection of the Potters would inadvertently change history for the worse.
This lack of security was unacceptable. To navigate such a world, he had to become stronger by any means necessary. In the following weeks, his intensity reached a fever pitch. Charm development, spell practice, and Occlumency training were packed into his days alongside his physical conditioning. The urgency of his own safety left him no room for relaxation.
Augusta watched him with growing concern. Aside from coming down to help with the cooking or watching over Neville while she ran errands, Alan remained cooped up in his room. This self-imposed isolation continued for over a month.
On August 9, 1981, as Alan was helping prep lunch, Augusta brought him a letter.
"An invitation from the Weasleys? Oh, I nearly forgot," Alan admitted. He had been so focused on his research that the outside world had all but vanished.
Augusta smiled. "Yes, I ran into Molly yesterday. She's still hoping you'll teach her those recipes. She's due to give birth any day now, and their orchard is overflowing with fruit. They want us over as guests. I don't know what's been keeping you so busy, Alan, but a balance between work and rest is vital."
Alan nodded, realizing he had been pushing himself to the brink of neurosis. Appropriate relaxation was, indeed, a necessity. "You're right. Let's visit the Weasleys tomorrow."
The next day, Alan carried little Neville while accompanying Augusta to the outskirts of Ottery St. Catchpole. The Weasleys had secured their property with heavy Muggle-Repelling and Shield Charms, creating a private sanctuary in the countryside.
As they approached, Alan saw a house that looked as if it had been pieced together by sheer magic, rising several stories high. In the Muggle world, such a structure would have collapsed under its own weight in minutes. This was the Burrow.
The yard featured a sprawling chicken coop and a shed that looked suspiciously like a Muggle garage. Despite the chaotic architecture, the surrounding greenery was beautiful. As they neared the gate, several red-headed children poked their heads out of the upper windows, waving enthusiastically. Arthur Weasley opened the front door to greet them before they even reached the porch.
"Haha! If you'd waited any longer, Molly would have been in labor and we'd have no time for guests!" Arthur laughed, ushering them inside.
"My apologies," Alan said. "I've been a bit lost in my studies lately."
"Ambitious! If only my boys shared that drive," Arthur said cheerfully. "Come in, come in. Molly's been in the kitchen all morning."
He led them into the sitting room, chatting animatedly. "Bill will be eleven this November, but he just missed the cutoff for Hogwarts, so he'll have to wait another year. You must try the fruit; the grapes and plums are exceptionally sweet this harvest."
They sat and sampled the fresh fruit while the children trickled downstairs. Bill, the eldest, held baby Ron and did his best to help keep order. Molly emerged from the kitchen to greet them, her face bright despite the heat of the stove. She immediately pulled Alan away; she was determined to master the dishes he'd prepared at the Longbottoms'.
Alan enjoyed Molly's company and her work ethic. In the kitchen, he demonstrated the finer points of his techniques. Even with her advanced pregnancy, Molly was remarkably agile with her cooking spells. Together, they worked through several complex recipes.
Life in a large family is a loud affair. Even while focused on the stove, Molly had the uncanny ability to monitor the chaos in the other room. Every few minutes, she would let out a sharp shout that instantly silenced the clamor in the living room. Alan was amazed; she seemed to know exactly who was misbehaving without even looking.
In this atmosphere of harmonious chaos, they finished preparing the midday meal.
Lunch was a whirlwind. The three-year-old twins, Fred and George, were the primary agents of destruction—stealing food from Percy and Charlie or making faces at Ron until the baby wailed. Molly and Bill worked tirelessly to maintain a semblance of order, while Arthur simply sat back and laughed at the spectacle.
Alan watched them, struck by the sheer vibrancy of the household. It was the first time since arriving in this world that he had experienced such a raw, powerful sense of family. It was a feeling that, for a moment, sent him drifting back into his own distant memories.