On the second Thursday of November, less than two weeks before the First Task of the Triwizard, he hung back at the close to speak to Professor Moody.
“Professor, could I have a little of your time?” he asked, nodding towards the door and silently asking the professor to close it and seal it.
The retired Auror must have understood, for that was exactly what he then did.
“What do you need, Potter?”
Harry hesitated. He had been working himself towards this conversation for weeks. “I heard from Mr Weasley that you were a very good Auror.”
Moody looked at him critically with his magical eye. “Arthur Weasley, presumably?”
Harry nodded.
“I wouldn't so much say I was very good,” the man muttered. “Effective might be the limit of what I'd claim”. He looked at Harry with a piercing expression. “No one who talks themselves up can really be trusted.”
Harry nodded, recalling Gilderoy Lockhart.
“But, effective as I may have been, I had limits,” he said, pointing to the magical eye. “They were exceeded more than once, I just happened to get out alive.”
Harry nodded again.
“So what are you after, Potter?”
Harry got straight to the point. “I was wondering if you could tell me anything about the murders of Emerson Potter and his wife. My dad's parents.”
Moody straightened a little. “Aye, Lupin let me know you might ask. I worked that case. Two of the nastiest, most brutal killings I ever saw in my whole career.”
Harry sat down, and Moody followed. “Professor Lupin said that they were mutilated,” Harry said, hoping for details.
Moody nodded, and did not disappoint. “That's the right word, alright. 'They were cut to pieces, and their bodies slashed to ribbons.” He cleared his throat. “One killer, two victims. Only spells on the bodies were the ones that beheaded them; everything else was done with a knife.”
Harry clenched his fists. “What else?”
Moody sighed. “The killer torched every portrait in the home, your grandparents' rooms, what was probably your father's bedroom growing up, and much of the rest of the house. Only thing of substance left was the library; I suppose the killer thought the books were more valuable than their owners.”
Harry felt he needed to punch something or someone very very hard. “One person did all of that?”
Moody nodded. “Only one. They set the Dark Mark before leaving, too.”
Feeling blood on his fingertips, Harry forced himself to relax. “Lupin told me that nobody was ever convicted.”
Moody nodded. “It never went to trial. I'm convinced that a lot of murderers walked away, whether by pleading Imperius, or … for other reasons.”
Harry turned his hands palm-side down and watched drops of blood fall on the desktop. After a couple minutes of silence, Moody again spoke.
“I'll give you one piece of advice, Potter. Dwelling on this won't do you any good.” Moody healed the damage to Harry's hands with taps and swishes of his wand, undid the seal on the door, and motioned for Harry to leave. Harry took the dismissal for what it clearly was, and went to dinner.
He would hardly speak a word in the next several days.