Chapter 60 — Foundations of Legendary
The first breath of April carried a subtle warmth through the streets of London, though the mornings still held a brittle chill. In the expansive halls of Bishop's estate, sunlight streamed through tall windows, illuminating floors polished to a reflective shine and walls lined with tomes, tools, and blueprints of cinematic marvels.
Ron Weasley, perched on a high stool at the drafting table, had already begun marking lists, sketching diagrams, and arranging miniature models of set designs. His mind moved at a velocity that left even Bishop catching his breath. "We need everything ready before casting," he said decisively, eyes scanning the spread of plans like a general surveying the battlefield. "Extras, sets, horses… and the magical unemployed first for acting. They understand spells naturally; we don't have to teach them everything from scratch. Squibs handle business, publicity, logistics — the groundwork. Leave the magic to us, the artistry to me."
Ginny stood beside him, leaning on the edge of the table. Her eyes, wide with fascination, followed every movement of her brother's quill. "Ron, it's… It's amazing how detailed this is. You've even thought of wards, living quarters, and paying them fairly."
Ron nodded, tilting his head thoughtfully. "If the extras or workers are uncomfortable, it will show on screen. And Bishop will handle contracts and Muggle covers, so nothing leaks."
Across the country, at Hogwarts, the castle had been bustling with its final exams. The mid-March sun glimmered on stone courtyards as students scurried between classrooms, parchments in hand. Professors whispered behind closed doors about extraordinary developments, snippets of conversations drifting through corridors like tendrils of gossip. By early April, the exams concluded, and students dispersed to their homes, leaving the castle quiet for the holidays. Yet even in the absence, the rumours of mysterious projects and clandestine preparations had taken root among those who remained, their imaginations conjuring legends they did not fully comprehend.
Back in London, the air in Bishop's study buzzed with anticipation. Albus Dumbledore's letters had arrived the previous evening, each one folded meticulously and sealed with a faint curl of phoenix-fire wax. Ron had read each one, absorbing both the encouragement and subtle caution within Dumbledore's words. The Headmaster's observations were measured, yet they carried the weight of centuries, reminding Ron that even genius must meet discipline.
"Dumbledore's not here," Bishop muttered, adjusting his spectacles and surveying the room. "How much do you want me to handle before he arrives?"
Ron tapped a finger against a section of the model city he had built — a scaled-down representation of the 100-acre filming compound. "All the preliminary groundwork — build sets, install wards, arrange horse stables, establish quarters for everyone. Then we set the cameras and rehearsals begin."
By mid-morning, the estate had filled with an array of observers. Dumbledore himself had arrived, flanked by Mrs Weasley and most of the Weasley siblings — Bill still stationed in Egypt, but Charlie, Percy, and the twins present, drawn by curiosity and parental concern alike. Even Hogwarts staff members had been invited to witness the maiden experiment with Ron's cameras.
The Runic-Cameras, ten in total, levitated in perfect alignment above the main courtyard. Their metallic surfaces reflected sunlight as though gleaming with quiet intelligence. Ron approached, his eyes narrowing in focused intensity. "Headmaster Dumbledore, would you explain how the cameras work? I want everyone to understand the principle before we start."
Dumbledore stepped forward, adjusting his half-moon spectacles. "The Runic-Cameras capture not merely light and motion, Ronald. They are attuned to ambient magic, capable of recording enchantments as if they were strokes of a brush on canvas. Each camera carries runes that sync in a network, capturing simultaneously from multiple perspectives." He gestured to the hovering devices. "Ten cameras, ten viewpoints — every detail is preserved."
Ron's lips curved into a smile. "Perfect. Now, let's set them up — one at each angle I've marked. Check the viewfinder, nod if everything aligns. That's the only way I can visualise the final cut before the first frames are captured." One by one, Dumbledore looked through the view-finders, confirming positions, perspectives, and elevation angles. Each nod from the Headmaster brought a quiet thrill to Ron's chest.
The real excitement came next. Ron turned to the assembled extras — three hundred magical volunteers, still training in swordsmanship, transfiguration, duelling, potions, and healing, as separate squadrons are needed for separate lines of work — and the first test began. He wielded two Bokken, one in each hand, the left for precise attacks, the right for seamless defence. "I'll duel all fifty of you," he declared, voice calm but commanding. "Only my swords. You can use magic, but keep it within safe bounds. Let's see what the cameras capture."
The courtyard erupted. Sparks of light flared as spells were cast, parried, and deflected. Ron moved with uncanny precision, his body flickering from point to point, compressing magic into each strike. The left-hand Bokken sliced through the air, guiding attacks with sharp intention, while the right hand deflected curses with near-prescient timing. His footwork and rotations were fluid, almost imperceptible — a blur of motion in a human shape.
Above, the ten Runic-Cameras recorded every nuance. Each angle captured the duel differently: a bird's-eye view showing spatial dynamics, a close-up revealing concentration in Ron's eyes, another focusing on the interplay between spell and blade. The footage from the cameras was later synchronised into a single continuous cinematic fight, a montage of relentless speed, precision, and magical artistry.
Ginny, her hands clasped over her mouth, whispered, "He's… like a ghost." Bishop's jaw hung slightly as he muttered, "And these cameras… they're catching it perfectly. Every motion, every spark…"
Once the duel concluded, Ron stepped back, breathing evenly, and signalled Dumbledore. "Time to see how it looks on screen." The footage was projected magically onto a wide enchanted screen, each frame flowing seamlessly into the next. The duel, previously chaotic to the onlookers, now revealed a ballet of combat, with spells arcing like colored ribbons and Bokken slicing through illusions of magic. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, but he remained silent, letting astonishment settle over everyone present.
"Remarkable," Mrs Weasley said softly. "I knew you were talented, Ronald, but this… this is something else entirely."
Bishop, still recovering from the visual spectacle, scribbled notes fervently. "We can use these sequences as training demonstrations, cinematic examples… or even promotional material for the company. Ron, your instructions are brilliant, but the practicality… It's incredible."
Ron only nodded. "Everything is about precision. If I'm going to tell Gryffindor's story, it must be real. Every strike, every spell, every reaction — captured perfectly. Extras, props, sets, music — all of it has to feel authentic."
Dumbledore leaned back, hands clasped behind his head. His gaze lingered on Ron, observing the calm intensity with which he orchestrated the entire process. "Even at ten… he sees not just the story, but the world around it," he murmured. "Execution, imagination, empathy — all entwined. Rare, indeed."
As the sun dipped low over the estate, casting elongated shadows across the courtyard, Ron shifted focus. Lists, diagrams, and schedules — all meticulously noted — dictated the next week's workflow. Extras would rehearse daily, sets would be built in phases, and all magical devices would be tested repeatedly to ensure they functioned flawlessly under diverse enchantments.
Letters were exchanged between Dumbledore and Bishop, approving incremental steps, ensuring that the Ministry's oversight remained discreet yet effective. Amelia Bones, meanwhile, received her updates via Squib couriers, each carefully annotated to balance faith in the boy's genius with pragmatic caution.
Ginny lingered near the edge of the activity, her eyes wide with admiration. "Ron… they'll never forget this," she whispered. "Not just the movie… but you."
Ron's grin was quiet but assured. "They won't. Not if we do it right. Everything here — the cameras, the extras, the sets — it's just the beginning."
Above, the Runic-Cameras hovered silently, as if waiting for the next act. The sun set in a blaze of gold and amber, casting the courtyard in fiery brilliance. Shadows danced, echoes of spells lingered in the air, and the foundations of what would one day become Legendary Pictures solidified beneath the careful guidance of a boy who was already thinking decades ahead.
Dumbledore, still watching from the sidelines, felt a rare surge of hope. The world of magic, often rigid and steeped in tradition, was about to witness ingenuity, audacity, and artistry at a scale never attempted before — all orchestrated by a boy not yet old enough to attend Hogwarts.
"And so," he murmured, "the legend truly begins."
Fawkes trilled once, his song a bright, crystalline note that resonated through the evening air, a benediction of beginnings, creation, and the extraordinary.