Morning — 9:26 AM — On patrol, Mid-Wilshire
7-Adam-10 advanced slowly along a tree-lined avenue.
Traffic flowed without haste, shops opening, people carrying coffees too large for that time of the morning.
The radio murmured routine codes; nothing urgent.
Angela Lopez drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the door.
Her face was unusually relaxed, but not unheard of.
Harry Potter, in the passenger seat, observed the surroundings with discreet attention: reflections in shop windows, hands in pockets, postures that spoke louder than words.
“You know…” Angela began, breaking the silence, “a lot of people here think I’ve become a TO just because I have patience.”
Harry smiled slightly.
“I imagine the analysis is incomplete.”
“Quite.” She laughed.
“Before all this, I went through things most people don’t even attempt.”
She made a gentle curve and continued:
“I’m one of the few women certified as a sniper by the LAPD SWAT team.”
Harry turned to her, interested.
“I knew you had advanced training… I didn’t know you were a sniper.”
Angela nodded.
“A lot of people don’t know.
It’s not something I advertise.”
“How many people have that certification?” Harry asked.
“In the whole department?” she replied.
“A few dozen.
In Mid-Wilshire…” she paused briefly, “only me.”
Harry raised an eyebrow slightly.
“Really?”
“Really,” Angela confirmed.
“Besides me, there’s Cris Alonso, a sniper from Squad 20, led by Sergeant Buck Spivers.
But she’s stationed in another division.”
“So you’re the only police officer in Mid-Wilshire with an active certification,” Harry summarized.
“Exactly.”
She took a deep breath, as if measuring what she was about to say.
“It’s not glamorous,” she continued.
“It’s waiting.
Hours.
Sometimes days.
One mistake… and someone dies.”
Harry nodded slowly.
“Firing line is the final decision,” he said.
“There’s no correction afterward.”
Angela gave him a quick, assessing look.
“You speak like someone who’s been there.”
“In other contexts,” Harry replied.
“But the logic is the same.”
The radio crackled with a call about excessive noise; another unit took over.
Angela turned off the sound and returned to the subject.
“Certification requires more than marksmanship,” she explained.
“Psychological evaluation, impeccable record, command recommendation, and going through the hell of the course.”
“How long?” Harry asked.
“Months,” she said.
“And that’s after you’ve already been deemed fit.”
Harry was silent for a few seconds, absorbing it.
“Can I ask you something?” “— she said finally.
— You can.
— How do I get that certification?
— Harry asked.
— So I can operate an assault rifle when necessary.
Angela didn’t answer immediately.
She slowed down, pulled over to a lookout point, and turned off the engine.
She turned to him, serious.
— This isn’t a casual question, Harry.
— I know.
— he replied.
— That’s why I’m asking now.
Not in a crisis.
Angela crossed her arms.
— Why?
— she asked.
— Be honest.
Harry kept his gaze steady.
— Because I know I can do it responsibly.
— he said.
— And because, in certain situations, having someone properly trained with a rifle reduces risk, not increases it.
She observed him for a long moment.
— You don’t want this for status.
— she stated.
— No.
— Harry replied.
— I want it for usefulness.
Angela nodded slowly.
— Then let’s get down to business.” “— she said.
— To begin with, you need to finish your recruit training without a single blemish.
Then, apply for advanced long gun training.
— Rifle patrol?
— Harry asked.
— Exactly.
— she confirmed.
— LAPD standard AR-15.
Initial course, then ongoing evaluation.
— And sniper certification?
— he asked.
Angela raised a finger.
— Next step.
— she said.
— Only after demonstrating absolute discipline on the rifle patrol.
SWAT doesn’t accept impulsive candidates.
Harry nodded.
— Rigorous psychological evaluation.
— Angela continued.
— Interviews.
Use of force history.
Everything counts.
— Understood.
— And a recommendation.
— she added.
— From the sergeant.
From the captain.
And from someone who is already certified.
Harry looked at her.
— You.
Angela held his gaze.
— Maybe.
— she said.
— If you prove you deserve it.
He smiled slightly.
— Fair enough.
She took a deep breath.
— I’m going to tell you something I don’t tell many people.
— Angela continued.
— Carrying a rifle changes how people see you… and how you see yourself.
— I know.
— Harry replied.
— I’ve seen the other side of it.
— This isn’t war.
— she said.
— It’s the street.
Civilians.
Children behind thin walls.
— Precisely for that reason.
— Harry replied.
— I want to be prepared so I don’t make mistakes.
Angela was silent.
Then she nodded once.
— Okay.
— she said.
— I’ll talk to Sergeant Grey when the time is right.
No shortcuts.
— I don’t want shortcuts.
— Harry replied.
— I want the right way.
She started the engine again and returned to the patrol.
— Just to be clear… — Angela added, with a half-smile — the sniper course will humiliate you.
— “Good.
I’m getting too comfortable,” Harry said.
She laughed.
“Another thing,” Angela continued.
“Cris Alonso is brutally honest.
If you go there thinking you already know everything…”
“She’ll take me apart,” Harry finished.
“Exactly.”
The radio crackled with a routine call.
They answered, continued on.
“You know what else?” Angela said after a few minutes.
“I think you’re going to pass.”
Harry looked at her, surprised.
“Even with everything?”
“Precisely because of everything,” she replied.
“You don’t treat this like a toy.”
Harry nodded, serious.
“Thank you for telling me the truth.”
“Always,” Angela replied.
“It’s the only way to keep someone alive behind a gun.”
The patrol car drove down the avenue, the sun high, an ordinary day.
But, for Harry, that conversation marked something new.
Not a return to the past.
A commitment to the future done the right way, with permission, responsibility, and choice.
And that, more than any medal, was what truly mattered.
pat/SHADOWGHOST07
Full story over there