The Crasieve
Chapter One: The Loot of Mundungus Fletcher
Mundungus Fletcher was ambling down Knockturn Alley. He had collected a lot of strange objects from a nunnery in which two witches were sent by their fathers so that they couldn't marry. He had Apparated into the building hoping to find some sacred objects to hex, when he saw the two witches. Kimberly Wailstocking and Georgia Vilestorm were so happy to meet a man of their kind that they didn't mind giving him almost their whole treasure of magical pots, glass balls, sporks, and juniper logs. (They also delivered him a couple of kisses while hidden in a closet away from the other Sisters.) Mundungus went away happily; he could drown himself in alcohol after he had sold these.
There was one really odd pot the two nuns have given him. It had a long neck with two handles. There were decorations on it—little rainbows and fluffy clouds. Mundungus tried to refuse to take it, but the nuns had insisted. He decided he would chunk it after selling the rest at Borgin & Burkes.
Borgin received him with a ghastly grin. "You've got a loot, Mundungus? Excellent!"
"Yeh, two unlucky nuns gave the 'ole lot to me."
"Nuns? How could you find useful stuff with them?"
"Them two were witches, they were. Only way to keep them from marrying, I s'pose. But they were overglad to get rid of this junk."
Borgin took the sack from Mundungus and sorted through it. "Whoa, an unbreakable pot. Might be useful. A shrinking cauldron—that will sell very well with the Wendron Witches. A Jiftian spork…whoever eats it with it will have all the knives in the house raining down on them. I'd like to see a Muggle use one—the world could do with less of them. And, ah, what's this—" Borgin's face blanched. He was holding the vaselike pot. "Where did you find this, Mundungus?"
"Same place. It was with the nuns. I was going to chunk it."
"Chunk a Crasieve, Mundungus, are you nuts? This is worth more than half the store."
"What's a Crasieve?" asked Mundungus, blankly.
"It's better that you don't know, especially since you almost threw it out."
Borgin paid Mundungus well for the loot; he wouldn't have to get any more for a while yet.
Shaking his head, Borgin put the Crasieve in a glass vase. He was tempted to use it himself, but perhaps on a holiday. Some recent alumni from Durmstrang were coming to buy a cursed watch, and he had to be ready for them.
After the alumni left, a cobbler who sold shoes that ate people's toes came in. At once his eyes riveted to the Crasieve, and they bulged. Borgin was in the back, and the cobbler contemplated smashing the glass with a Fragility spell, but thought Borgin might come before he managed it. When no Borgin had shown his face after five minutes, the cobbler tried the spell anyway. It didn't work; the glass stayed firm. Cursing, the cobbler turned to go, but at that moment Borgin appeared.
"Tialatin, what did you just do?"
The cobbler gulped. "Nothing. I wanted to buy acidic leather, but since you didn't show, I thought I'd leave.."
"You used a Fragility spell."
"No, I didn't," the cobbler lied, feebly.
"Give me your wand."
"But Borgin—"
"Do it."
The cobbler reluctantly handed his wand over.
"Prior Incantato!" Borgin said, touching his own wand to the cobbler's. A shadow of the Fragility spell emerged, though a very feeble one.
"Aha!" exclaimed Borgin. "You are henceforth banned from the shop, until further notice. Until the Crasieve is sold, that is. Don't try coming here again."
"But, Borgin, where will I get Armenian bison leather?"
"Oh, I'm sure there's some other place that sells it. If there isn't, you'll have to do without. Now, shoo."
The cobbler took back his wand, gave Borgin a grimace, and exited the shop. Borgin had no trouble with the Crasieve until four days later.
A burly man with a bulky mustache came in on that day He looked like someone it'd be unwise to refuse anything. His eyes at once turned to the Crasieve, and he knew he'd have to have it, no matter the price.
He approached Borgin, who was polishing a shrunken head. "I'd like to buy the Crasieve," the man said, calmly.
Borgin glanced at the man, then said, "Not for sale," turning back to the shrunken head.
The man shook his head in disbelief. "I don't think you heard me right," he said, menacingly. "I will not leave this shop until the Crasieve is in my hands."
"Oh, a tough customer, aren't you?" asked Borgin. "Well, I'll have you know that I won't take less than sixteen thousand Galleons for it."
"That's outrageous, Borgin! You could buy a country for that price! Money doesn't grow on broomsticks, you know."
"No sixteen thousand Galleons, no Crasieve."
The man with the mustache looked like he'd pummel Borgin into a pulp. But just as he raised his fists to strike, Borgin pulled out his wand and shouted, "Furunculus!"
Myriad boils sprouted on the man's face. He ran out of the shop in fury, with Borgin calling behind him, "You're lucky I didn't use the Cruciatus Curse on you!"
The man spread the word about what would happen to people who tried to take the Crasieve by force. Only an extremely wealthy person would be relieving it from Borgin's hands. And that is exactly what happened three months later.
Mr. Saltsworthy was a pure-blood who hated Muggles and Mudbloods, but was not a Death Eater. There was a rumor that in his youth he had a crush on a girl named Dolores Umbridge, but she had turned him down. Now she supposedly regretted it, for he was rich and she only worked at the Ministry. Some rumors were floating around that she had begged him to take her back, but he refused. Bertha Jorkins in the Department of Magical Sports and Games started some of these rumors, but there seemed to be some veracity in them.
Borgin was surprised to see Mr. Saltsworthy come in his meagre shop. People with as much money to their names as he had usually went to Porkston Alley, where the cheapest thing was a Sugar Quill for thirteen Galleons. It was said that Porkston Alley didn't know what a Sickle was, let alone a Knut.
"I heard you have a Crasieve," said Mr. Saltsworthy, standing in an expensive tuxedo which was worth more than all of the merchandise in Knockturn Alley put together. "I need one for my collection."
Borgin wasn't fooled. No one would merely want a Crasieve to add to their "collection." Mr. Saltsworthy obviously wanted to visit the future. Or not "visit," for you can't actually influence the future through a Crasieve, as you would influence France if you visited it. "Experience" would be a more apt word.
For the Crasieve is in some ways the opposite of a Pensieve. It will allow you to find out what is to come, but you can only go as far as the death date of the youngest person who is using it at the time. Basically, if you were born in 1899, and you will die in 1954, going alone means you have no chance to experience any year after 1954. But if you go with someone younger…say an infant born in 1938, you can travel up to that person's death year, say 2001. The trick is to find someone as young as possible and persuade them to go with you, if you want to go far. You cannot force them, because the Crasieve won't take them with you; persuasion is the only choice.
"Name your price," Mr. Saltsworthy said.
"Nineteen thousand Galleons," replied Borgin.
"Hmmm…I heard it was sixteen thousand."
"If you don't have nineteen thousand, you can leave."
"No, no, I'll take it. It's just—"
"You wanted to get it as cheap as possible? You make more money in a day than I do in a year. Nineteen it atands."
Mr. Saltsworthy tried to bargain with Borgin to diminish the price, but to no avail. At last he sighed, and said, "Fine, nineteen thousand." He started to give Borgin a paper which would allow him to take the amount out of Saltsworthy's vault at Gringott's, but Borgin refused.
"Must have physical money or no sale."
Mr. Saltsworthy asked if Borgin would accept a down payment. Borgin shook his head in dissention. Finally, Mr. Saltsworthy pulled a money back off his back and started dishing out Galleons. Though the bag was obviously too small to hold nineteen thousand, it kept refilling as soon as it was empty. Some other customers entered the shop and heard Saltsworthy muttering, "7, 894…7,895…7,896…" They stared at the mountain of money piling on Borgin's desk, and contrived to steal some of it, but when they touched it, their hands burned as if they had stuck it in searing flames. They ran out of the shop in agony, and Saltsworthy lost his count.
"Where was I?"
"Three-thousand, four-hundred twelve," Borgin said slyly.
"You lie, you cheat! I was somewhere around eight thousand, I think…"
Saltsworthy resumed counting. It took four hours for him to count out nineteenth thousand Galleons. Borgin cast a quick spell on the lot to make certain none of it was leprechaun gold. Finally, the deal was made. Borgin removed the glass from the Crasieve and handed the precious object to Saltsworthy, who walked out, more joyous than he had been since the day he found out he would never have to worry about money.