The following morning — 8:17 AM — Mid-Wilshire Police Station
The police station’s armory was a simple, functional space, devoid of any attempt at glamour.
Metal workbenches, direct white lighting, a constant smell of light oil and solvent.
A place where no one raised their voice, not because of a written rule, but out of respect.
Harry Potter sat alone at one of the workbenches, a maintenance mat spread out in front of him.
On it, arranged with almost surgical precision, was his standard department Glock.
Nothing extravagant.
Nothing overly personalized.
Just a tool that needed to always work.
Harry removed the magazine, carefully checked the chamber, the automatic gestures repeated thousands of times throughout his life.
Only then did he move forward.
“Safety first…” he murmured to himself.
He disassembled the pistol with fluid movements: bolt, recoil spring, barrel.
Each piece was placed on the mat in the same order, aligned.
The door to the room opened.
“I knew I’d find you here,” said Angela Lopez, entering with a cup of coffee.
Harry looked up.
“Good morning,” he replied.
“It’s become a habit.”
Angela approached, observing the meticulous care.
“Most people only clean their gun when they’re forced to,” she commented.
“Most people only realize they should have cleaned it…” Harry replied, “when it’s too late.”
She nodded, leaning against the counter beside her.
“Department Glock,” she said.
“Simple, reliable.”
“Exactly for that reason,” Harry replied.
“It doesn’t need to be pretty.
It needs to be predictable.”
He wiped the barrel, removing almost invisible residue.
“You talk like someone who’s had a gun malfunction at the wrong time,” Angela commented.
Harry didn’t look up.
“I’ve seen it happen,” he said simply.
Angela respected the silence.
“So…” she changed the subject, “I heard you bought some accessories.”
Harry nodded and opened a small box beside the rug.
Inside, carefully packaged, were a compact red dot sight and a tactical flashlight.
“Nothing out of the ordinary,” he said.
“Everything approved.”
Angela leaned forward to get a better look.
“You chose well,” she commented.
“Red dots reduce acquisition time.”
“Especially in low light,” Harry added.
“And under stress.”
He picked up the bolt and began preparing to install the optics.
The movements were calm, precise, unhurried.
“You’ve used this before,” Angela stated.
“Yes,” Harry replied.
“In environments where there was no second chance.”
She observed silently for a few seconds.
“Funny…” she said, “you could have asked for help.”
Harry smiled slightly.
“Maintaining your own weapon is a personal thing,” he replied.
“I need to know exactly how it reacts.”
He carefully fitted the red dot sight, checking alignment, proper torque, everything within specifications.
“Don’t you trust the gunsmith?” Angela teased.
“I do,” Harry replied.
“But I trust myself more when it comes to my survival.”
She chuckled softly.
“Fair enough.”
The door opened again.
“Look at this…” said Tim Bradford, entering.
“This looks like a weapons therapy session.”
Harry raised an eyebrow.
“It works for some,” he replied.
Tim approached.
“So this is the famous Glock of the British knight,” he commented.
“It’s just a Glock,” Harry replied.
“It doesn’t respond to titles.”
Angela laughed.
“He’s installing a red dot sight and a flashlight,” she explained.
Tim crossed his arms.
“Good choice,” he said.
— This flashlight has saved my life more than once.
Harry picked up the flashlight and began attaching it to the lower rail.
— Light controls information, — he said.
— Those who see, decide.
Those who don’t see, react.
Tim tilted his head.
— You should teach.
— I prefer to learn from the environment, — Harry replied.
He finished assembling the flashlight, tested the momentary activation, then the constant one.
Everything worked perfectly.
— And the zero on the sight?
— Angela asked.
— Adjusted according to department protocol, — Harry replied.
— I’ll confirm at the range later.
— Of course you will, — Tim commented.
— You don’t sleep soundly without confirming.
Harry shrugged.
— Sleeping soundly is an expensive luxury.
He began reassembling the pistol, each piece returning to its place with precision.
A soft click indicated that everything was correctly fitted.
Harry did the final check, without ammunition, checking functionality.
“Ready,” he said.
Angela observed the now-complete weapon.
“It seems…—she searched for the word—discreet.”
“That’s the goal,” Harry replied.
“Nothing draws attention.
Nothing distracts.”
Tim leaned against the counter.
“You treat this like it’s more than just equipment.”
Harry looked at the Glock for a second longer.
“It’s a responsibility,” he said.
“Every tool I carry has the potential to change lives.
Including my own.”
Angela nodded slowly.
“You know what I like most about all this?” she asked.
“What?”
“You don’t treat it as a weapon,” she said.
“Treat it as a duty.”
Harry carefully holstered his Glock.
“Power without control is just noise,” he replied.
“Duty demands silence.”
Tim let out a low whistle.
“Dude…” he said, “you definitely don’t come from the ordinary.”
Harry stood up.
“And yet…” he replied, “I chose to be here.”
Angela grabbed her coffee.
“Let’s go out on the street,” she said.
“Before someone thinks you’re planning a coup with all that philosophy.”
Harry smiled slightly.
“Regular patrol,” he said.
“My favorite.”
They left the armory together.
In the hallway, the precinct continued its usual rhythm voices, radios, hurried footsteps.
Harry adjusted the holster, feeling the familiar weight of the Glock now configured exactly as needed.
Nothing extravagant.
Nothing excessive.
Just a reliable tool tended by someone who understood that quiet preparation was what truly kept people alive.
And, for Harry Potter, that was always enough.
pat/SHADOWGHOST07
Full story over there