Chapter 58 — Of Valor and Magic
The London air carried the faint chill of early spring, but inside Bishop's spacious study, the warmth of glowing lamps and the faint rustle of parchment filled the silence. It had been nearly three months since the beginning of the year, and for Ronald Weasley, March had turned into a month of absolute creation.
The last stroke of his quill fell in steady rhythm, followed by a soft exhale. Across the desk lay stacks of parchment — hand-drawn storyboards, meticulously inked diagrams of camera angles, and the cleanly written script he had spent every waking hour polishing. The candle beside him had burned low, its wax pooling like melted gold.
The title at the top gleamed faintly in the light:
"HOGWARTS LEGENDS: CHAPTER 1 — OF VALOR AND MAGIC (Part One)."
It was finally done.
The first movie of his envisioned series — structured, paced, and detailed by the standard of Muggle commercial blockbusters. Ron had read, studied, and internalized centuries of film language until it became part of his instinct. The screenplay's rhythm was precise, its emotional flow deliberate. He had even drafted the shot compositions — a full visual plan of how the story would unfold on screen.
He leaned back in the chair and sighed, his red hair slightly messy, quill still in hand. "That should do it."
Across the room, Ginny peeked around the half-open door, her brown eyes bright with curiosity. "Ron? You've been in there forever."
Ron turned, surprised to see her already awake. "Couldn't sleep again?"
She shook her head, stepping closer with bare feet against the wooden floor. "No. Mum's been fussing since yesterday — Charlie's final exams at Hogwarts start next week. Percy's buried in books, and the twins… well, they're pretending to study. Mum says she's going mad worrying about all of you."
Ron chuckled softly. "Sounds like Mum."
Ginny's gaze wandered over the cluttered desk. "What's all this? It looks like... drawings and stories?"
Ron smiled faintly, motioning her closer. "Come here. I'll show you something."
She climbed onto the chair beside him, curiosity practically glowing off her face. Ron reached for a parchment bound with red ribbon — the completed version — and gently spread it open before her.
Ginny's eyes widened immediately. The drawings were unlike anything she had ever seen: characters brought to life in ink and shading, buildings that looked like moving castles, and notes in the margins about music, light, and motion.
"This... this isn't just a story, Ron," she whispered, tracing a line with her small finger. "It looks like it's alive."
Ron's lips curved into a small, knowing smile. "That's the idea. I'm calling it a movie script. It's meant to be seen, not just read."
Her gaze flitted to the title, and she read it aloud, slowly, reverently — "Hogwarts Legends: Chapter One — Of Valor and Magic." The way she said it made the words sound grander than ever before.
Her grin grew wider. "Is it about the Founders?"
"About Gryffindor, to start with," Ron said softly. "How it all began. Before Hogwarts became what it is today."
Ginny's expression turned to awe. "You're really going to show this to Hogwarts?"
Ron nodded. "Headmaster Dumbledore, yes. He'll understand what I'm trying to do."
She beamed, pride glowing in her eyes. "You're amazing, Ron."
He smiled at her quiet sincerity. "Maybe. But remember — it's not finished until the world believes it."
The morning sun broke through the window, illuminating the parchment with soft gold. Ron stood, stretching, and turned toward the corner table where an old Xerox machine hummed quietly — another Muggle tool Bishop had helped him acquire. The combination of magic and Muggle technology was still unstable, but Ron found that copying the content from a parchment to a paper is, well, easy and convenient.
He placed the parchment inside, pressed the button, and watched as three crisp copies rolled out — the faint smell of ink filling the room. He carefully labeled each one.
The original parchment would go to Dumbledore.
One paper copy to Bishop, another to Ginny, and the last he would keep himself.
It was both symbolic and practical — a circle of trust he wanted to maintain.
By the time he entered the living room, Bishop was already sipping tea and glancing through some real-estate reports, wearing his usual crisp gray suit. His sharp eyes flicked up at Ron as he walked in with the thick stack of papers.
"Another project, Ron?" Bishop asked, setting down his cup.
Ron smiled faintly and handed it to him. "Something... a bit different this time."
Bishop glanced at the title, brow furrowing. "Hogwarts Legends? Sounds... mythological."
"It is," Ron said simply. "You could say it's a story worth watching."
Bishop flipped through the pages, brow tightening. "You know I deal in numbers and property, not... this." He turned the script sideways, frowning slightly. "Half these things— camera angles, light focus, transitions — it's all gibberish to me."
Ron just smiled knowingly. "That's why you'll need someone who understands movies."
Bishop exhaled, scratching his temple. "You're lucky I know one."
Within a few hours, an older man arrived — a slightly stooped gentleman with salt-and-pepper hair, wearing an overcoat that had seen better days. His eyes carried both curiosity and exhaustion — the look of someone who had once dreamed big but settled for smaller realities.
"Mr. Bishop," he greeted politely. "You said you had something unusual."
Bishop gestured to Ron. "This is the young man. Ronald Weasley. He's written... whatever this is."
The man blinked as Ron handed him the script. His expression softened the more he read — the silence growing thicker with every page he turned. Finally, he looked up, disbelief in his voice. "You... wrote this? Yourself?"
Ron nodded simply. "Yes. Completed story, screenplay, and storyboard."
The man set the script down gently, as if it were fragile glass. "I've worked around sets all my life," he murmured. "Lighting, props, background work. But this— this is proper film-grade structure. You've got tone, movement, pacing... everything's alive. This is no child's fantasy."
Bishop's eyes flickered between them, half impressed, half skeptical. "So? Does it mean anything?"
The man smiled faintly. "It means, if this ever reaches a camera, it'll change more than one world."
Bishop leaned back, clearly not understanding but smart enough to recognize value when it stood in front of him. "Then we'll make sure it reaches one."
Ron offered a quiet nod. "That's all I needed."
Outside, the light had softened into late afternoon, the kind of golden hue that seemed to make every shadow dramatic — as if the world itself knew it was standing on the edge of a story about to begin.
Back at the Burrow, Molly Weasley sat in the kitchen, worry written across her face. Letters from Hogwarts cluttered the table — notices about final exams, behavior reports from the twins, and timetables for Percy's upcoming evaluations.
She sighed deeply, muttering under her breath, "Merlin's beard, they'll be the end of me, all of them…"
Her eyes drifted to the corner of the room where an old family photograph of Ron and Ginny sat. Both children were now away with Bishop, learning, growing, doing things she didn't quite understand. Pride and anxiety warred in her chest.
Arthur had reassured her that Ron's work with Bishop was "educational." But Molly knew her son. When Ron set his mind on something, it usually grew into something far greater than anyone expected.
And she couldn't shake the feeling that, somehow, the world was shifting around him — like the quiet before a storm.
Meanwhile, far away in London, as the lamps flickered to life in Bishop's study, Ron sealed the original parchment in a heavy brown envelope, wrote Dumbledore's name in steady script, and tied it to Mr. Stark's leg.
"Deliver it safely," Ron whispered.
The golden-eyed owl let out a soft, low hum and took off into the night sky, wings gleaming under the moonlight.
Ron watched until the silhouette vanished beyond the rooftops.
Then he turned back toward Ginny and Bishop, who were still reading through their copies, the air thick with a kind of silent excitement.
For the first time in weeks, Ron allowed himself a small, genuine smile.
It had begun.