When he finally got down to the postal vault, he gasped. It was an enormous space, like a warehouse hewn from stone instead of built from steel. On the left side, dozens of filing cabinets contained every letter he'd ever received, apparently organized by date and sender in some sort of grid. In front of him, racks of clothes were neatly hung, sorted by size and type. To his right, rows of shelves held items of every size and description. High overhead, shafts of sunlight streamed through a series of narrow tunnels to the surface, painting bright rectangles on the floor of the gloomy room; even as Harry watched, a shadow blotted one out, and a barn owl emerged from the center shaft, swooping down to a perch.