Grumble's Grudging Respect

Grumble kicked a loose pebble across the courtyard, watching it skitter and then vanish into a crack between the flagstones. It was a pathetic sort of journey for a pebble, he thought, not unlike his own current trajectory. He’d spent years honing his craft, meticulously studying ancient texts, practicing incantations until his throat was raw, and here he was, still perpetually a step behind, forever the runner-up to *him*. Boy. The name itself felt like a sour taste in his mouth.

He’d witnessed the whole thing, of course. From a safe, respectable distance, naturally. When the Shadow Maw had descended, a roiling mass of pure, unadulterated nastiness, Grumble had been busy perfecting his defensive wards, muttering about the sheer audacity of such a creature appearing during advanced Transfiguration theory. Then he’d heard the screams, the guttural roars, and the sickening thud of something impossibly heavy hitting the ground. He’d peered over the parapet, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird, and seen… well, he’d seen *Boy*.

It hadn’t been the epic, world-shattering confrontation anyone, least of all Grumble, had expected. Boy, who had so recently been spat out by the beast with enough force to rearrange his internal organs, had simply… stood up. He hadn’t charged in with a roar of defiance or a blinding flash of power. No, Boy had just sort of… straightened his tunic. And then, with a sigh that sounded less like heroic resolve and more like mild inconvenience, he’d conjured a rather unassuming, slightly lopsided teapot.