9:02 AM — Los Angeles
7-Adam-21, the patrol car assigned to Tim Bradford’s shift that day sped along a wide avenue, lined with shops opening their doors and hurried pedestrians.
The radio was at a low volume, just enough not to miss important calls.
In the passenger seat, Harry Potter observed the surroundings with his usual controlled attention.
There was no visible anxiety.
Just focus.
Tim drove in silence.
It was a different kind of silence from Angela’s.
Heavier.
Assessing.
Bradford wasn’t a man of small talk.
Every silent second was a test.
“Nine o’clock in the morning,” Tim said finally.
“Best time to really get to know someone.
The masks are still on.”
Harry turned his face slightly toward him.
“I agree.”
Tim gave a dry half-smile.
“Last night you made half the precinct uncomfortable.”
“It wasn’t intentional,” Harry replied.
“I know,” Tim said.
“That’s exactly why.”
They stopped at a traffic light.
Tim rested his elbow on the door, watching the traffic.
“So let’s get straight to the point,” he said.
“Which unit did you serve in?”
Harry didn’t answer immediately.
The light turned green.
Tim accelerated gently.
“Your file says ‘international consultant,'” Tim continued.
“SAS.
MI6.
Languages.
Multiple theaters of operations.
That’s not a consultant’s resume.”
Harry took a deep breath.
“It isn’t.”
“So?” Tim insisted.
Harry was silent for a few seconds.
When he spoke, his voice was lower.
“I shouldn’t tell you.”
Tim kept his eyes on the road.
“I figured.”
“That’s not in any system,” Harry continued.
“Not British.
Not American.”
Tim nodded slowly.
— The really important things never are.
The patrol car passed through an intersection.
A group of children were crossing with colorful backpacks.
Normal life.
Harry observed this for a moment before speaking again.
— I’ll tell you.
— he said.
— But not because you asked me to.
Tim turned his face to him for the first time.
— Then why?
— Because I need you to trust me.
— Harry replied.
— I’m not here to step on anyone’s toes.
Or to prove anything.
Tim looked ahead.
— Continue.
Harry took a deep breath.
— I served in E Squadron.
The silence inside the patrol car was absolute.
Tim didn’t react immediately.
Not a word.
No exaggerated expression.
Just an almost imperceptible clenching of his jaw.
— Repeat that.
— he said finally.
— E Squadron.
— Harry repeated.
— Special Air Service.
Tim exhaled slowly.
“It’s not officially listed anywhere,” he said.
“Not even in normal military circles.”
“It shouldn’t be,” Harry replied.
“It’s a ghost unit,” Tim continued, now in a lower voice.
“Joint missions with intelligence.
Plausible denials.
If captured, the British government denies your existence.”
Harry nodded.
“Exactly.”
Tim shook his head slowly.
“I only heard about it once,” he said.
“In Kandahar.
A Delta operator mentioned ‘Englishmen who weren’t quite Englishmen.'”
“Probably us,” Harry replied.
The radio crackled, but Tim lowered the volume even more.
“You understand what that means, right?” Tim asked.
“It puts you on a level most people here will never reach.”
Harry turned to him.
“I don’t want that level here,” he said.
“Here I’m a recruit.”
Tim let out a short sound, almost a laugh.
“You can wear the recruit uniform, Potter,” he said.
“But that doesn’t erase what you were.”
“I know,” Harry replied.
“But it changes what I choose to be now.”
Tim was silent for a few seconds.
“Who did you operate with?” he then asked.
“It varied,” Harry replied.
“French units, German units, sometimes American.
Always Tier One.”
“DEVGRU?” Tim asked.
“Yes,” Harry confirmed.
“Delta Force too.”
Tim nodded slowly.
“So you know exactly how our equivalent works.”
“Yes,” Harry said.
“Ground Branch.”
Tim raised an eyebrow.
“Few people outside the CIA use that name.”
“Few people outside this world know it exists,” Harry replied.
The patrol car slowed down as it passed a school area.
“So,” Tim said, “if someone asked, what would you say E Squadron is?”
Harry thought for a moment.
“The intersection of war and silence,” he replied.
“Where decisions are made so that nobody knows they needed to be made.”
Tim took a deep breath.
“That explains your posture,” he commented.
“You don’t react like a regular cop.”
“Because I was trained to think about long-range consequences,” Harry replied.
“Here, I’m relearning to think about specific people.”
Tim parked the patrol car momentarily at an observation point.
He put the car in neutral.
“I’ll be clear with you,” he said.
“I don’t like secrets in my patrol car.”
Harry held his gaze.
“I don’t like lying either.”
“Then why didn’t you say this from the beginning?” Tim asked.
“Because it changes how people see me,” Harry replied.
“And I didn’t want that.”
Tim nodded slowly.
“It already has,” he said.
“But at least now I understand.”
He was silent for a few seconds.
“You know that if someone higher up decides to dig deep…” Tim began.
“They won’t find anything,” Harry finished.
“That’s the point.”
Tim exhaled through his nose.
“Shit,” he muttered.
“You’re the kind of recruit that gives commanders a headache.”
“That’s not my intention,” Harry said.
“I believe you,” Tim replied.
“But that doesn’t stop it from happening.”
The radio crackled again.
“Unit on patrol, abandoned vehicle incident, possible break-in near Fairfax,” announced headquarters.
Tim picked up the radio.
— 7-Adam-21 on its way.
He started driving again.
— Just to make something clear.
— Tim said as he accelerated.
— I don’t care what you did before.
Harry turned to him.
— What matters then?
— What you do when you’re under my command.
— Tim replied.
— And so far… you’ve been solid.
Harry nodded.
— That’s all I want to be here.
The patrol car drove off down the streets.
— One last thing.
— Tim said.
— You understand that if something goes wrong, your past will be used against you.
— It’s always been that way.
— Harry replied.
Tim shook his head.
— You chose the most visible place possible to try to disappear.
— Yes.
— Harry said.
— Because here, nobody expects monsters hiding in broad daylight.
Tim laughed briefly.
— You’re a walking paradox, Potter.
“—They usually say that,” Harry replied.
They arrived at the scene.
Nothing serious.
Just an abandoned car, a broken window, a standard report.
After dealing with it, they returned to the patrol car.
Tim closed the door and remained silent for a few seconds before starting the engine.
“—You know this stays between us,” he said.
“—I told you expecting this,” Harry replied.
Tim nodded.
“Then we’re clear.”
The patrol car returned to its patrol car.
And, at that moment, something fundamental had changed.
Tim Bradford no longer saw Harry Potter merely as a strange recruit with too many skills.
He saw him as someone who had walked through the same hells, only under different flags.
And that, more than any resume, created something rare in that world:
Silent respect.
Chapter 10 — Line of Fire
3:48 PM — South Mid-Wilshire
The afternoon heat made the air heavy inside patrol car 7-Adam-21.
The radio had been silent for a few minutes, the kind of silence that didn’t reassure, only announced that something was about to happen.
Tim Bradford drove with one hand on the wheel, the other casually resting near the radio.
Harry watched the street, the reflections in the windows of the parked cars, the long shadows cast by the low buildings.
“Something’s not right,” Harry said, breaking the silence.
Tim didn’t look away.
“What exactly?”
“The call,” Harry replied.
“Robbery at a residence, but no update for almost six minutes.”
Tim frowned.
“Central usually updates quickly.”
The radio crackled, too late.
“Units on patrol, possible escalation from a previous incident.
Armed suspects.
Address remains the same.” Tim picked up the radio.
“7-Adam-21, received.
We’re less than a block away.”
He turned off the siren before turning the corner.
“Standard procedure,” he said.
“Coverage, communication, no heroics.”
“Always,” Harry replied.
The patrol car stopped half a block from the address.
A single-story house, gate open, front door ajar.
Absolute silence.
No neighbors in sight.
Tim carefully opened the door.
“Stay behind me,” he said.
“Understood.”
They advanced along the stone path of the garden.
Harry felt his whole body enter that ancient and dangerous state of absolute focus, the world reduced to angles, distances, probabilities.
A metallic click came from inside the house.
“Gun being cocked,” Harry murmured.
Tim raised his hand, signaling stop.
“LAPD!” Tim announced loudly.
— Get out with your hands visible!
No answer.
Then, everything happened too fast.
The door burst open.
A gunshot.
The dry impact.
Tim screamed, his body thrown back by the force.
— Shit!
— he fell to his knees, his hand immediately going to his shoulder, dark blood trickling between his fingers.
Harry didn’t think.
There was no moral analysis.
Just action.
He pulled Tim behind the low garden wall, pressing him against the concrete.
— Stay with me.
— he said firmly.
— Where does it hurt?
— Left shoulder… — Tim replied, his teeth clenched.
— I can’t lift my arm.
Harry pressed the spot quickly, assessing.
— Through-and-through shot.
— he said.
— You’re conscious.
That’s good.
Another shot shattered part of the wall above them.
— Two shooters.
— Harry assessed in seconds.
— One at the door.
Another probably to the side.
Tim was breathing heavily.
— Harry… — he said.
— Don’t do anything stupid.
Harry looked at him.
— I’ll neutralize the threat.
— he said.
— You’ll stay alive.
— Don’t be a hero.
— Tim retorted.
Harry was already moving.
He drew his weapon, sliding across the floor to a position that gave him partial cover and a clear view of the door.
— LAPD!
— Harry shouted.
— Weapons on the floor!
Get out now!
The response was another shot.
Harry responded with controlled precision.
Two shots.
The man at the door fell backward, weapon slipping from his hand.
Harry rolled to the side at the exact instant the second shooter emerged from the side of the house.
Quick movement.
Practiced.
Harry felt time slow down.
Breathing.
Posture.
Pressure on the trigger.
Three shots.
The second suspect fell to the dirt floor, motionless.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Harry remained motionless for two full seconds, gun still pointed, assessing signs of movement.
Nothing.
“Threat neutralized,” he finally said aloud.
He immediately turned back to Tim.
“Tim,” he called.
“Look at me.”
Tim was pale, cold sweat trickling down his temple.
“I’m here…” he murmured.
Harry quickly pulled the tactical first aid kit from his belt.
His hands moved with automatic precision.
“I’ll treat you now,” he said.
“Stay awake.”
He carefully cut the fabric of the uniform around Tim’s shoulder, exposing the wound.
Active bleeding, but controllable.
“Breathe with me,” Harry instructed.
“Inhale.
Hold.
Exhale.”
Tim obeyed, even in pain.
Harry applied direct compression, then adjusted a pressure bandage, assessing vital signs.
“Bullet didn’t hit a major artery,” he said.
“You were lucky.”
“Lucky…” Tim chuckled weakly.
“Sure.”
Harry pressed harder.
“It’s going to hurt.”
“It already hurts,” Tim replied.
Harry maintained steady pressure, monitoring.
“Central!” he shouted into Tim’s radio.
“Officer wounded!
Two suspects downed!
Requesting EMS and immediate support!”
The response came almost instantly.
“Units en route.
Hold position.”
Sirens began to blare in the distance.
Harry kept his hand firmly on Tim’s shoulder.
“You’re not going to sleep now,” he said.
“Tell me… what was the last thing you ate today?”
Tim frowned.
“Is this serious?” he asked.
“Very,” Harry replied.
“That was a terrible sandwich…
from the cafeteria,” Tim muttered.
“Good,” Harry said.
“We’ll complain about that when you’re in the hospital.”
Tim took a deep breath, his gaze fixed on Harry.
“You…” he swallowed hard.
“You saved my life.”
Harry didn’t answer immediately.
“It’s part of the job,” he finally said.
The first patrol cars arrived with screeching tires.
Officers surrounded the area, weapons drawn, until they realized everything was under control.
“Wounded officer!” someone shouted.
Paramedics rushed over.
A patrol car stopped abruptly.
Harry recognized him immediately.
Wade Grey got out first.
“Where is he?!” he shouted.
“Here!” Harry replied.
Right behind him, Captain Zoe Anderson.
She assessed the scene in a single glance: suspects on the ground, Tim being treated, Harry kneeling, blood on his hands.
“Preliminary report,” she said firmly.
Harry stood up slowly.
“Two armed suspects opened fire,” he said.
“Officer Bradford hit in the shoulder.
Threat neutralized.
Pre-hospital care administered.”
Zoe watched Tim being placed on the stretcher.
“Will he be okay?” she asked a paramedic.
“Yes,” he replied.
“Thanks to the quick intervention.”
Wade approached Harry, his gaze heavy.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” Harry replied.
Zoe took a deep breath.
“Mr.
Potter,” she said then.
“As protocol, I need you to hand over your weapon.”
Harry nodded without hesitation.
He removed the magazine, checked the chamber, and placed the open weapon on the hood of the nearest patrol car.
“Understood.”
Wade watched this attentively.
“Until internal affairs completes their analysis,” Zoe continued.
“Standard procedure in incidents involving fatalities.”
“I understand completely.” — Harry answered.
Tim, already being led to the ambulance, called out weakly:
— Zoe… — he said.
— He… did everything right.
Zoe held Harry’s gaze.
— This will be assessed.
— she said.
— But rest assured.
You cooperated.
Harry nodded.
As the ambulance drove away, sirens blaring, Harry stood for a moment, the blood drying on his hands, the weight of what had happened finally catching up with him.
Wade placed a firm hand on his shoulder.
— You kept a cool head.
— he said.
— Not everyone could.
Harry took a deep breath.
— I just did what needed to be done.
— he replied.
Zoe watched the bodies being covered.
— Sometimes, — she said — doing what needs to be done has consequences.
Harry met her gaze.
— I know.
The yellow tape began to be unfurled.
Night was slowly approaching.
And, for the first time since entering the LAPD, Harry Potter felt something that didn’t come from the magical past or the invisible wars.
The real weight of a trigger pulled here.
No wands.
No prophecies.
No way to pretend it wouldn’t leave marks.
pat/SHADOWGHOST07
Full story over there