The briefing room door was still closing when Angela Lopez gave a short nod, beckoning Harry to follow her.
“Come on,” she said.
“Before someone decides to interrogate you in the hallway.”
Harry followed, his steps firm but not overly stiff.
He noticed the stares.
Some curious.
Others suspicious.
Some clearly assessing.
Angela noticed.
“Don’t worry,” she commented as they walked.
“They do that to every recruit.”
“Even the thirty-seven-year-olds?” Harry asked, in a neutral tone.
She let out a short laugh.
“Especially the thirty-seven-year-olds.”
They descended the stairs leading to the garage.
The characteristic smell of oil, rubber, and hot metal filled the air as the space opened up before them.
Rows of black-and-white patrol cars lined up, some with their doors open, officers adjusting equipment, checking radios, talking in hushed tones.
Angela pointed to one of the patrol cars in the back.
“That’s ours.”
Harry approached, observing every detail with almost instinctive attention.
“Ford Explorer Interceptor,” Angela said.
“It’s not new, but it’s reliable.
And it’ll practically be your home for the next few weeks.”
She tapped lightly on the hood.
“Call sign: 7-Adam-10.”
Harry tilted his head.
“Adam for patrol duo,” he commented.
“Seven refers to the division.”
Angela raised an eyebrow.
“Have you studied our codes?”
“I’ve read everything they gave me,” he replied.
“And a little more.”
“Of course you have,” she murmured, opening the driver’s side door.
Harry walked around the vehicle and got into the passenger seat.
The interior was functional, without excesses.
The onboard computer immediately caught the eye.
Angela started the patrol car.
The dashboard lit up, the radio crackled with voices from headquarters.
“This here,” she said, pointing to the computer, “is the heart of the patrol.”
She began to explain calmly but firmly.
“Here you check police reports, license plates, warrants, alerts from headquarters, priority calls, everything,” she typed quickly.
“Every login is traceable.
Nothing you do here is invisible.”
Harry watched intently.
“No room for improvisation outside of protocol,” he commented.
Angela turned to him.
“Exactly,” she said.
“If you come with a special operations mentality, you’ll fail.”
“Understood,” he replied.
“Here, civilian lives come before the mission.”
She stared at him for a longer second, assessing.
“Good answer,” she said finally.
“Let’s roll.”
The patrol car pulled out of the garage and onto the streets of Los Angeles.
The morning sun reflected off the buildings, and the traffic was beginning to intensify.
For Harry, this was… different.
Not hostile.
Just chaotic in an everyday way.
Angela drove naturally, one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the radio.
“First official patrol,” she commented.
“Nervous?”
Harry thought for a moment before answering.
“No,” he said.
“But alert.”
“Good,” Angela nodded.
“Alertness keeps you alive.”
The radio crackled with a routine code.
Nothing urgent.
For a few minutes, they drove in comfortable silence.
Angela broke the ice.
“So…” she said casually.
“Family.”
Harry looked out the window.
“Complicated.”
“Normal,” she replied.
“Want to elaborate or would you prefer the awkward silence?”
One corner of his mouth lifted slightly.
“I can elaborate.”
She nodded, keeping her eyes on the street.
“My parents,” Harry began.
“Lily and James Potter.
They were murdered by a terrorist.”
Angela frowned slightly.
“When?”
“Right after I was born.”
She slowed down a little, her attention now focused not only on the street.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s been a long time,” he replied.
“His name was Voldemort.”
Angela blinked.
“Voldemort?”
“Alias,” Harry explained.
“Extremist.
Operated outside any traditional structure.
Never officially classified as an international terrorist for political reasons.”
“Of course not,” she murmured.
“I grew up with my aunt,” Harry continued.
“Petunia.
The environment… wasn’t exactly welcoming.”
Angela didn’t press.
“Boarding school?” she asked, subtly changing her tone.
“Yes,” he replied.
“A private boarding school in Scotland.”
“Scotland,” Angela repeated.
“Cold.
Rain.
A strict, disciplined atmosphere.”
“Quite,” Harry agreed.
“It was called Hogwarts.”
Angela glanced at him quickly.
“Hogwarts?” she repeated.
“A… different name.”
“Quite VIP,” he added.
“Ancient tradition.
My family has deep roots in British history.”
She looked back at the street.
“Like… how deep?”
Harry took a deep breath.
“Ancient ties to the British monarchy,” he said.
“Nothing that makes modern headlines, but enough to maintain certain privileges.”
“So you are…” she made a vague gesture with her hand.
“Rich.”
“Yes,” he replied bluntly.
Angela let out a short sound, half laughter, half surprise.
“And yet you chose to become an LAPD recruit.”
— Wealth doesn’t buy purpose.
— Harry answered calmly.
She was silent for a few seconds.
“Friends?” she then asked.
“Two,” he said.
“The best.
Hermione and Ron.”
“Did you meet them at boarding school?”
“On the first day,” he replied.
“They kept me… human.”
Angela nodded.
“Still close?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Both married now.
More… stable lives.”
“And you?” she asked.
Harry hesitated before answering.
“Still trying to figure out where I belong.”
The car passed a busy intersection.
A pedestrian crossed outside the crosswalk; Angela slowed, assessed, and continued.
“Cambridge,” she resumed.
“What was it like going straight from a Scottish boarding school to there?”
“Liberating,” Harry replied.
“And dangerous.
Too much freedom for someone who’s spent their life being watched.”
“Behavioral psychology makes sense,” Angela commented.
— You analyze everything.
— It’s a survival mechanism.
— he said.
The radio crackled.
— 7-Adam-10, routine check.
— the control center announced.
— 7-Adam-10, received.
— Angela replied.
— On active patrol.
She glanced sideways at Harry.
— Your shift starts now.
— she said.
— Observe, learn, ask questions.
Only act if I tell you to.
— Understood.
They passed through a residential area.
Children waiting for the school bus.
A man sweeping the sidewalk.
A woman arguing on the phone.
— After Cambridge… — Angela teased.
— British government.
— Yes.
— Harry said.
— Consultant.
Officially.
— And unofficially?
— I learned to see patterns.
— he replied.
— People.
Movements.
Lies.
Angela paused momentarily to observe a common situation — a car parked illegally.
“Here,” she said, “you’re going to learn something else.”
“What?”
“That sometimes the greatest danger isn’t what you see,” she replied.
“It’s what you think you know.”
Harry absorbed that in silence.
“SAS.
MI6,” Angela continued.
“You understand that this scares some people here.”
“I don’t expect immediate trust,” Harry said.
“Just a fair chance.”
Angela looked at him more closely now.
“You will get it,” she said.
“But no more than any other recruit.”
“That’s all I ask.”
The patrol car started moving again.
The sun was now higher.
The city was awake.
For Harry Potter, this wasn’t just his first patrol.
It was the first step in a life where, for the first time, no one expected him to be a legend.
Just a police officer.
And, strangely, that seemed more dangerous than anything he had ever faced.
pat/SHADOWGHOST07
Full story over there