I like to try out different styles of writing that I don't normally use, and this story is one such example. The primary inspiration for the style of this piece was Ernest Hemingway, and I wanted to take a swing at using that sort of very simple and unorthodox sentence structure to tell a story. This is a very unusual Harry Potter Fanfiction, and fair warning, features a fat old 0 real characters from the books. But the concept of the Nundu has always fascinated me, even with the general lack of information out there. It's always seemed like such a badass creature, and I wanted to write something that really showed off what a monster this thing is, even in the world of magic.
This was something of an experiment and, while I enjoyed it, I doubt I'll ever write anything using this style again in the future. But I'm also fairly pleased with how it turned out, and hopefully it finds some people who enjoy it despite how atypical it is for a story of fanfiction.
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We walk. It's hot. The ground beneath us is soft. Our feet are not. They are covered with blisters. Insects are biting us. We want to ward them off with a charm. It can sense magic. We do not risk it. Our feet hurt.
We walk.
We start at every noise. We aim our wands at every noise. Every noise could be It. Every noise is not It. We are glad of this. This frustrates us. Both are true.
We walk.
The locals told us of Its den. We search for Its den now. We have a guide. He is a local. He is the only one to value gold above the danger. He will lead us. He has promised. He walks in front. We walk behind him.
We walk.
We do not talk. We do not have the courage to talk. We have the courage to hold our wands, because we do not have the courage to let go of our wands. Courage brought us here. Courage should keep us going. Courage has run dry. Desperation keeps us going.
We walk.
We do not see It. We do not see It when It comes. We feel It. A part of we feels It. One of us is coughing. He is coughing blood. His hands are now red. His face is now red. Blood trails from his eyes. He screams with no noise. Then he is dead. Then he is no longer we.
We fight.
Curses fly into the brush. We throw all sorts of curses. We throw them at everything. Another of we dies. We still can't see It.
We fight.
We are shrinking. Three more are no longer we. We are shrinking. We see It. It charges.
We fight.
We curse It. We miss. It is fast. Another of we is gone. The claws got him. At least he managed to express his scream. He is the first to. He is no longer we.
We fight.
We hit It. A curse pierces Its right leg. It snarls. Two more fall in silent screams. They are no longer we. The guide turns. The guide runs. We do not turn. We do not run.
We fight.
We hit three more curses. Two do nothing. One scars Its chest. Two more of we disappear. Another curse hits. It rears back. It roars. The sound is horrible. It breathes. This is worse. Ten of we begin to cough. Ten of we disappear. We curse at it. It dodges. It prepares to breathe again. We are eleven now. We turn.
We run.
We use our Portkeys. Nothing happens. It doesn't allow magic near It. It negates magic. It negates our portkeys. We are too close to It.
We run.
It is faster than we. One of we is caught. One of we is cut down. Two of we is cut down. Three of we is cut down. We can only run.
We run.
It breathes. While running. It breathes while running. We is five less. We is only three more.
We run.
One of we falls to the ground. One of we is crying. One of we screams a plea. It reaches one of we. One of we is no longer we.
We run.
One of we falls to the ground. The other of we pushed him. One of we is slashed by it. One of we falls to the ground in pieces. I struggle up.
I run.
I curse my confidence. I curse my stupidity. I apologize to the others. I know it is too late. I know It will get me. I know the Nundu will get me. So, I turn to face the Nundu.
Toward the Nundu, I walk. Against the Nundu, I will fight. Toward the Nundu, I run.
The Daily Prophet
Brave Explorers Set out for East Africa!
By Perry Oddical
The Nundu is the undisputed king of the animal kingdom. An XXXXX rated magical beast on the Ministry metric, the creature more than earns its rank. Its appearance is that of a large cat, but even bigger. It stands at ¾ the height of a troll, with a coat featuring a spiked mane and tail, every bristle sharp as a knife and harder than steel. It negates magic by its very presence, not enough to render all spells useless, but enough to scramble any attempt at escape via Portkey or Apparition. As if that weren't enough, its breath is one of the deadliest weapons on the planet, clouds of poison projected from the mouth. The poison breath is invisible once it leaves the beast's throat, yet it can destroy a respiratory system in seconds flat. The Nundu's mere name brings a shiver, and many a parent has used its description to scare their misbehaving child into submission. Never has a Nundu been subdued – dead or alive – with less than 100 able-bodied wizards and witches. But now, Britain's very own explorer extraordinaire, will venture in search of this beast with only 23 of his most trusted subordinates.
Long has the name Horace Clusterhorn been tossed around in the world of magical exploring, and now the man himself looks to author a new chapter in his legacy. He stands at the very forefront of his field, one of an elite few vying for the title of 'Greatest Explorer in the World'. Should his newest venture be successful however, there would surely be none that could claim to be his equal.
This won't be his party's first venture together. This is the exact group that traveled across continents two years ago in search of the South American Basilisk, a creature smaller than its European cousin, but no less deadly. They became the first group in history to slay a basilisk – of any species – without a single casualty. Many would have been satisfied with such an achievement and stepped back from such dangerous undertakings. Clearly, these outstanding witches and wizards don't feel their work is finished just yet.
When asked about the upcoming expedition, and the threat it posed to his wellbeing, Horace Clusterhorn merely smiled. That's right ladies and gentlemen! Days away from seeking out the stuff of nightmares, and the man can still smile in the face of it all. He gave his reason for such good cheer in a succinct but telling answer: "A quality machine is always more than the sum of its parts, and that's what we are; a quality machine. The Nundu may be formidable, but ultimately, it's alone. My group, on the other hand, has worked together for years in the highest intensity situations around. We know each other inside and out, and we'll use that. It's a numbers game, at the end of the day. The singular It won't be any match for our We.
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