About the Horcrux Series
If you haven't heard of Harry Potter, allow me to refer you to a different set of caches: GC2RAD6, GC2TQQP, GC2Z6KE.
This series of caches centers on the final major plot arc in J.K. Rowling's best-selling novels, as Harry and his friends try to locate magical items known as "horcruxes" in order to defeat the evil Lord Voldemort. In this cache-based retelling of the story, however, the seven horcruxes are hidden around central Maryland, and it is up to you to find them!
Knowledge of the Harry Potter story may help you pick up on a few subtle hints here and there (and make the theme more fun!), but is not necessary to solve the puzzle.
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Unlike Harry, your assistance is required to just find the horcrux, not to destroy it. Do not subject the cache containers to basilisk venom, fiendfyre, or any other manner of harm.
The seven horcruxes in this series can be found in any order. Look for a secret clue in each cache you may be able to use to defeat the Dark Lord himself in a final cache. Good luck and have fun!
Diary | Ring | Locket | Cup | Diadem | Boy | Snake | Final
[Cache not at listed coordinates. Solve puzzle to determine the actual location of the cache.]
A wave of warmth surrounds you as you enter the Three Broomsticks for what feels like the hundredth time. It appears your still-shivering friends did not arrive much earlier, and you all settle down at an open table for a round of butterbeer. Not soon enough, the warm beverage overcomes the crisp December air still lingering in your lungs, and you find yourselves quite content to sit quietly, sipping the frost away. Your lips are too occupied by both cold and drink to engage in much conversation of your own, and soon your ears cannot help but wander around the room.
A boisterous conversation a few tables away concerning a mutual friend's new grandson eventually gives way to two witches bantering about an article in today's Daily Prophet.
"...Yes, well, I only ever bought one, just to see what the fuss was about, " says the taller of the two witches, middle-aged and remarkably attractive. "And honestly, I'm not even sure where it is."
"I own his entire collection, all lined up by color, on display in my parlor. No plans to move them, either... except, of course, when I pull one out and keep it on my nightstand." The short, plump witch giggles a little too much as she replies. "He is still as entertaining as ever."
"So I can see." The first woman seems to be restraining a good bit of disapproval behind a politely reciprocating smile. "It would not surprise me the least bit if you had 'Gilderoy' embroidered on your pillowcases. However, It doesn't change what he did--or didn't do. Me, I am far more intrigued by stories like this one, " she says, pointing to an article titled Pathfinder -- Revelations of the True Wolfsbane. "I would much rather read more about the real '...unheralded savior of lands east of the Black Sea' than see another picture of that phony. This reporter knows how to ask the five W's--Who, What, Where, When, and Why--to get the tru-"
"What? There was a picture?" interrupts the short witch as she snatches the paper, soon to be disappointed. The only picture on the page, as you would come to find out, is of an old ring, attached to an adjacent article. "Dearie, you can keep your nonsense about wishy washy warlocks and wiggle waggle werewolves--I'll stick to my nonsense about Prince Charming. Ha, 'Pathfinder'...," she finished with a snort. Feeling content that she had won their little argument, her attention shifts to her tankard of blackberry firewhiskey, and then, to the picture of the ring. "My oh my, I haven't seen that in years."
Either the women were now discussing their newest subject more quietly, or the surrounding conversations had suddenly swelled. Hard to say, as your attention is still primarily focused on your own mug, only half-heartedly eavesdropping to help pass the time. Some guffaws echo from a table in the back; apparently, a young muggle-born asked for some A1 sauce, not exactly standard fare in the wizarding world. Boredom slowly overtaking the sense of frigidness, you are just about ready to start up some conversation of your own when a single word pierces through the din and grabs the entirety of your attention. It again comes from the pair of witches.
"Yes, I'm quite certain, he called it a 'Horcrux.' I had never heard of it either, but it is very, very important. I probably shouldn't even be talking to you about it--we haven't known each other very long..." The rotund witch seems too excited by the fact that she knows something her more intellectually-minded associate did not, and her feeble attempt at reticence lasts only moments. "Well, anyway, so then Brudus offered him two G's--lot of gold for a young man--I don't know how the boy could resist. But he did! The little weasel shot back a price ten times as much!
"Brudus was a wily one, though, and finally talked him down. Felt like hours that they went on bartering, goin' in circles back and forth, back and forth. Made me dizzy. His Daddy, dear Uncle Eldred, would always say, 'Arguments are like chasers--you can tell their value by the number of points they make.' M'cousin sure could make a lot of good points, and he and the young lad finally had a deal. I remember it well--couldn't forget such a large sum, never seen so much gold at once before. Couldn't forget that creepy face on the boy when they shook hands, either... such a very eerie look in his eye. So, 9,985 galleons later, Brudus had the ring.
"That night, he seemed so happy, like he'd won the lottery. He spent everything to get that ring, but was convinced it was priceless. Said it was an coveted heirloom from some old wizarding family, and that he could easily triple his money." The witch was clearly enjoying the chance to tell her story, and her friend was listening quite intently. You lean in a bit closer as well. "The next day, though, he started actin' funny. I remember, he kept on sayin' things like, 'Everything seems to revolve around this little, meaningless trinket.' But then...."
At that point, their voices again drop to an inaudible level. You can only make out bits, but none of it sounds good: "dreadful", "Mungo's", "never been seen again." Finally, the tall witch sits up straight, and her expression changes from mock concern to a sort of angry glee. "We'll see, " you hear her say with almost a cackle as she suddenly grabs the shorter witch by the wrist. From the quick movement, the sleeve of her robe briefly pulls back to reveal a symbol branded on her forearm--the dark mark! Before you could act, the two witches vanish.
No one else in the pub seems to pay it much mind. Disapparition is frowned upon inside the establishment--too many patrons skipping their tab--but it did happen from time to time, and you apparently are the only one to notice the foul play. You go over to the now-abandoned table and glance down at the Daily Prophet, still open to the same page. The picture seems to stare back at you as you examine it--Gaunt's Ring.
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