Day 1 of the Operation — Monday, 6:40 AM
The sun had barely risen when the Mid-Wilshire police station began to come alive.
There was no formal announcement, no ostentatious movement.
The operation demanded exactly the opposite: normality.
Harry Potter adjusted the radio on his shoulder as he walked to the garage.
The uniform was the same as always.
The patrol car, ordinary.
Nothing indicated that, behind the routine, a joint operation between the LAPD and the FBI was underway.
Angela Lopez leaned against the side of the patrol car.
“Ready for another week pretending nothing’s happening?” she asked.
Harry nodded.
“It’s always been my specialty.”
She took a deep breath.
“I don’t like the idea of you being a known variable of the target.”
“I won’t be,” Harry replied.
“Unless it’s necessary.”
Angela stared at him.
— What if it is?
— Then it will be quick, — he said.
— And controlled.
She didn’t like the answer, but she knew enough not to insist.
Day 3 — Wednesday, 2:12 PM
On the other side of town, in a discreet office building, Jessica Russo watched images from hidden cameras projected onto three different monitors.
Beside her, two FBI analysts cross-referenced financial data in real time.
— He’s being too cautious, — Jessica murmured.
— Karim senses that something has changed.
— No sudden movements, — said one analyst.
— But contacts are being reduced.
Jessica pursed her lips.
— He’s testing the waters.
The radio on the table crackled.
— Russo, this is Potter, — Harry’s voice came in low, controlled.
— Indirect eye contact confirmed.
Didn’t recognize me.
But he’s assessing everything.
Jessica closed her eyes for a second.
— Copied, — she replied.
— Don’t come any closer.
Let him believe he’s in control.
— Understood.
— Harry replied.
She hung up and exhaled slowly.
— Always on edge… — she murmured.
Day 5 — Friday, 10:47 PM
The night was hot.
One of those heats that clings to the skin and leaves your nerves on edge.
The 7-Adam-10 was parked half a block from a discreet restaurant in Koreatown.
Inside, Karim Al-Hassan was having dinner with two men.
Neither of them visibly armed.
All dangerous in their own way.
Talia Bishop watched through her discreet binoculars.
— He’s too comfortable.
— she said.
Harry, in the passenger seat, didn’t take his eyes off the entrance.
— That means the money is already in motion.
— he replied.
The radio vibrated.
— Transfer initiated.
— Jessica announced.
— We have bank confirmation.
Angela, in another patrol car, replied:
— Copied.
Holding position.
Harry felt a weight in his chest.
That old feeling.
Not adrenaline.
Anticipation.
— He’ll try to leave the country within 48 hours, — he said.
— He always does that when he thinks he’s won.
Jessica confirmed on the radio:
— We predicted it.
Port of Long Beach under surveillance.
Silence.
The restaurant began to empty.
Karim left last, adjusting his jacket, his expression too calm.
For a second — just one — his eyes met Harry’s through the patrol car window.
Nothing.
No recognition.
Karim’s car drove away.
— Contact ended, — Harry said.
— He doesn’t know yet.
Jessica took a deep breath on the other end of the line.
— Great job.
Day 7 — Sunday, 4:18 AM
The sky was still dark when everything converged.
At the port of Long Beach, containers were simultaneously opened by federal teams.
Money.
Disassembled weapons.
Forged documents.
Enough evidence to dismantle years of clandestine operation.
Karim was arrested in a hotel, without resistance.
No shots fired.
No chase.
Exactly as planned.
End of Operation — Sunday, 10:02 AM
The makeshift FBI room in Los Angeles was filled with a rare kind of energy: professional relief.
Jessica rested her hands on the table, looking at the final reports.
“Operation complete,” she said.
“No casualties.
Arrests confirmed.
Enough evidence for federal and international conviction.”
Angela let out a long sigh.
“I’ll sleep for twelve hours.”
Talia nodded.
“At least.”
Tim, present as an administrative observer, leaned back in his chair.
“Good job,” he said, looking at Harry.
“Really.”
Harry simply nodded.
Jessica closed her tablet and walked over to him.
For a moment, she said nothing.
Then, she simply hugged him.
It wasn’t a formal hug.
It was one of those hugs that only exist between people who have entrusted their lives to each other.
“You still know how to walk on a razor’s edge,” she said softly.
Harry returned the hug, brief but sincere.
“You still know how to pull off an impossible operation,” he replied.
She stepped back, smiling.
“That was a success for both of us.
FBI and LAPD.”
“It was,” Harry agreed.
They walked together down the hallway, away from the others.
“Are you going back to Quantico now?” Harry asked.
“In two days,” Jessica replied.
“Reports, hearings, the usual.”
Harry hesitated for a moment—something rare for him.
“When you’re going back to LA and not for work?”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Yes?”
“We’ll go out to do something,” he added.
“Something that doesn’t involve maps, targets, or codes.”
Jessica smiled.
A genuine, light smile.
“Is that an invitation, Sir Harry Potter?”
He chuckled softly.
“Just Harry,” he said.
“And yes.
It is.”
She nodded.
“Then it’s settled,” he said.
“But I get to choose the place.”
“Fair enough,” he replied.
She started to walk away, but stopped.
“You’re fine here, Harry,” she said.
“Don’t let anyone pull you back if you don’t want to.”
Harry held her gaze.
“For the first time…” he replied, “I don’t think I’ll go.”
Jessica smiled again and walked down the hall.
Harry stood still for a moment.
The operation was over.
The past had been used—and returned to its rightful place.
And when the noise subsided, what remained wasn’t emptiness.
It was possibility.
Los Angeles shone outside.
And, for the first time in a long time, Harry Potter’s future didn’t seem like a mission.
It seemed like… a choice.
Chapter 17 — Simple Things
The following morning — 8:03 AM — Mid-Wilshire Police Station
The smell of fresh coffee mingled with the scent of paper and plastic warmed by computers.
The station was in full morning rhythm: patrol cars leaving, officers greeting each other, the constant sound of radios announcing routine calls.
Harry Potter walked down the corridor with calm steps.
His body still carried the residue of the intense week, but his mind was… light.
The operation was over.
No phones ringing in the middle of the night.
No life-or-death decisions outside of local protocol.
That, in itself, was a luxury.
— Hey.
— called a familiar voice.
Harry turned around.
Angela Lopez was leaning against one of the tables in the common area, coffee in hand, a curiously relaxed expression.
— Ready to return to the glamour of routine patrol?
— she asked.
— Parking tickets and neighbors arguing about fences?
— Harry replied.
— I’m thrilled.
Angela laughed.
“I’m glad to know the British gentleman can handle this.”
“Especially this,” he replied.
Minutes later, they were on 7-Adam-10, exiting the garage and entering the normal flow of the city.
The morning sun reflected off the buildings; Los Angeles was waking up in its familiar chaos.
“Strange, isn’t it?” Angela commented as she drove.
“After everything… back to this.”
“Not strange,” Harry replied, observing the street.
“Necessary.”
She nodded.
“As if the world were saying, ‘Okay, drama’s over, now back to work.'”
“Exactly.”
The radio announced a routine call.
Nothing urgent.
Just another day.
They passed a school, children crossing the street with colorful backpacks.
A street vendor setting up his stall.
A couple arguing quietly on the sidewalk.
“This is the kind of thing that doesn’t appear in federal reports.” — Angela commented.
— That’s good.
— Harry replied.
— These are the things that are worthwhile.
They walked around for a few minutes in comfortable silence, until Angela tilted her head slightly, as if deciding something.
— Can I ask you something… personal?
— she said.
Harry turned to her.
— Sure.
Angela took a deep breath, a half-smile on her face.
— You and Jessica… — she began — ever had a thing?
Harry blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Then he laughed.
Not a short or defensive laugh — a genuine, loose laugh, almost surprised by the question.
— No.
— he replied.
— Never.
Angela raised an eyebrow.
— Never at all?
— Never.
— he confirmed, still smiling.
— We’ve always been and still are just friends.
She watched him out of the corner of her eye.
— Funny… — she said.
— You two have that kind of intimacy that often confuses people.
Harry nodded.
— It’s confused a lot of people, — he replied.
— But it doesn’t go beyond that.
— No kisses in London?
— Angela teased.
— No unexplained nights?
Harry shook his head, amused.
— Nothing, — he said.
— Jessica is an excellent professional.
Always has been.
Angela let out a thoughtful “hm.”
— You speak of her with great respect.
— Because she deserves it, — Harry replied.
— She’s brilliant, disciplined… and extremely stubborn.
— I confirm, — Angela laughed.
— It was obvious.
— Our bond came from working under absurd pressure, — Harry continued.
— When you entrust your life to someone… it creates closeness.
But it’s not romance.
Angela was silent for a moment.
— Then the hug at the end of the operation… — she commented.
— It was gratitude, — Harry said.
— And relief.
She nodded.
“Okay,” she said.
“Just curious.”
Harry smiled slightly.
“Professional curiosity?”
“Absolutely,” she replied.
The radio crackled again.
A call about excessive noise.
Loud music in a residential building.
“See?” Angela commented.
“Back to reality.”
“My favorite,” Harry replied.
They arrived at the location.
A quick conversation with residents.
A polite request to lower the volume.
No resistance.
Back in the patrol car, Angela rested her elbow on the door.
“You seem… different today,” she commented.
“In what way?”
“More present,” she replied.
“Less distant.”
Harry thought for a moment.
“I think, for the first time,” he said, “I’m not waiting for the next disaster.”
Angela smiled.
“That’s good,” she said.
“It means you’re staying.”
Harry looked at her.
— That’s how it looks.
The rest of the patrol continued calmly.
A minor accident.
A request for information.
A lost dog.
At the end of their shift, the sun began to set, painting the sky orange and pink.
Angela parked the patrol car in the garage.
— Good job today.
— she said.
— It’s always good when nobody gets hurt.
— Harry replied.
They got out of the car.
— And just so you know… — Angela said as they walked — if one day you decide not to just be friends with Jessica…
Harry looked at her, curious.
— Yes?
— Let me know beforehand.
— she said, smiling.
— So I can say “I knew it”.
Harry laughed.
— Agreed.
They entered the police station together, blending into the normal flow of the end of their shift.
No international operations.
No new secrets.
No unexpected medals.
Just two police officers finishing another day.
And, for Harry Potter, this remained the greatest victory of all.
pat/SHADOWGHOST07
Full story over there