Chapter III: The Owl Post
Harry arrived at the Owl Delivery Post with hands full of invitations. They stacked neatly up to his nose, and he waited for some wizard to open the door for him. A small girl wearing a red, polka dotted dress snickered at him. In her hand was a small wand with sparkling orange flames at its end. Harry shifted his left arm to get a better look at the young witch.
"Why are you laughing?"
"You don't use the door, silly!" she squealed and ran through a brick wall.
Harry had never used the Post before. His owl did all the delivering for him; it was strange though that two glass doors stood erect in front of him, yet they were not used as doors. Perhaps it was a Muggle-like decoration? Harry shrugged and walked toward the same spot the girl ran into. Without fear or hesitation, Harry stepped through.
He entered a world full of bickering and shouting. Dozens of goblins sat at pompous desks and scrolled with feather pens. A few wizards here and there marched along, their hands clutching rolled up parchment. Harry had never seen a post office like this before. When he was younger, the Dursleys took him once to a local post office to help them carry some boxes. Actually, Harry was the only one carrying anything. He was the mule, lugging along thick cardboard crates and waiting on a line for over two hours. When he got to the front, the Dursleys decided they wanted to ship the boxes Fed Ex instead. But here, there were no lines. Harry did not even see any velvet ropes that could help form a line.
"Correct me if I'm wrong. You're Mister Harry Potter?"
"Yes, but where are you?" Harry replied, unable to see directly in front of him with his pile of invitations blocking his sight and starting to tumble.
"Give me those."
With the blink of an eye, the letters were gone. Harry immediately adjusted his eyes to spot a goblin—a girl goblin. She looked very much like the others but she had tight, crisp red locks of hair around her face. A gold badge was pinned to her left shoulder reading "Eliza."
"Where did you put my invitations, Eliza?" Harry asked.
"I delivered them. What else did you want me to do? Oh dear, oh dear. I did it again. I took your things without asking. Oh dear, oh dear, I'm in big trouble. Oh no, oh no, don't do this to me. Oh."
"It's ok. That's all I wanted. You didn't do anything wrong. Stop panicking and stop running around in circles like that." Harry placed his hands on the twirling goblin, forcing her to stop and look up at him.
"Eliza!" a familiar voice shouted.
Harry spun around to see Dobby. He must have followed me, thought Harry.
"Eliza, you were supposed to meet Winky and me at the Penniwack Café over an hour ago. Don't you ever get a break?" Dobby halted to a stop when he realized who was standing by. "Mister Potter! Mister Potter!"
"Hello, Dobby! I didn't know you came here often. I would have given you my letters."
Dobby smiled and clutched Harry's legs. "He's a very, very good friend of mine, Eliza."
"Oh, stop your lies, Dobby. He probably barely knows you. Oh, I'm sorry, Mister Potter. He does this all the time you know actually. Once, when I was out site seeing with Winky, Dobby showed up and pretended that he knew that Muggle man named Lincoln. Abe Lincoln. He showed us a statue of him and even claimed to have made it himself. Dobby is such a liar."
"No! Dobby doesn't lie," Dobby said innocently and tapped his fingers together. "Embellish perhaps but not lie."
"Sure, whatever you say, Dobby. Just so you know, Lincoln died several hundred years ago. He was a Muggle President."
"You see! Dobby does lie!" Eliza shouted in joy, proving she was right.
"Oh, I've been a bad Dobby." Suddenly, the house-elf grabbed Harry's pant leg and blew his nose into it. Elf boogers smeared all over it, all gooey and lime green. When Dobby finally pulled back a little, he realized what he had done and then continued to whine. "Oh, Dobby doesn't mean to lie."
Harry's eyes widened. Dozens of goblins stared at the scene from their cubicles and desks. Several pretended to be writing down stuff with golden feather pens, but they weren't actually helping anyone. As they continued to watch in amusement or in confusion, whichever, Eliza had begun to tiptoe away toward a door reading "Silver Level". Harry couldn't blame her. Who needed to be fired because of Dobby?
Unfortunately for her, Dobby stopped crying. "So sorry. Sometimes Dobby gets upset for doing very bad things. Dobby tries not to hit himself anymore. See." He lifted both of his hands. A few raised scars and bumps were visible but at least they weren't bandaged up. "Whenever Winky wants to eat out with me, we have to invite Eliza. Dobby doesn't understand why—"
He turned to see she was gone. Dobby's ears began to twitch and his nose shivered back and forth like an antenna in the wind. He spun around, his eyes frantically darting in the hopes of finding any female goblin around, but it was useless. She snuck off.
"I don't understand what the big deal is, Dobby," Harry said.
"Winky only sees Dobby if Eliza is there!" Dobby shouted as he now paced about. "They talk and talk and talk about things Dobby doesn't understand. Mister Potter, why does Winky always think she's fat? Every time… Every time! 'Dobby, my hair clip, does it make me look fat?' Dobby doesn't understand how a piece of wood in her hair makes her gain weight. No, no, Dobby will never understand them!"
Harry laughed throughout his whole tantrum. It was hard not to. He then grabbed Dobby's shirt and pulled him aside. The goblins were still watching. "Dobby, don't try to understand girls. For what I've learned from Hermione, girls are right and you are wrong."
"But what if—"
"You're wrong. Whatever it is Winky is arguing to you about, she is right."
Dobby shook his head and placed his hands on his forehead. "How will Dobby ever live with them?"
"Don't worry, once you ask Winky to marry you—"
A gasp escaped Dobby's mouth. His eyes widened, making his eyelids nearly invisible. If it was possible, he shook even more than before. His small house-elf body trembled which now made it impossible for the goblins to stop staring at their spectacle.
"Dobby cannot marry Winky."
"Oh. I'm sorry. I just assumed with all the time you spend with her, that eventually you two would," Harry paused and clutched his hands together. "You know, get married."
"House-elves do not marry, Mister Potter. It has never been done."
Harry blinked. "What do you mean never? Surely your parents…"
Dobby shook his head. "I would be the first free house-elf to marry, legally that is. I've heard of such couplings before but a wizard has never, never proclaimed one house-elf and another wed. That would be wonderful wouldn't it? As long as stupid Eliza did not live with us."
"Did I miss something?" Harry asked. "Since when is Eliza living with you?"
And again, Dobby shook. "I've been a very bad Dobby! Very very very bad! Dobby lies and Dobby also forgets to tell Harry Potter about other housemates…" Dobby squinted his eyes and raised his hands as if Harry would hit him.
Instead of getting angry, Harry merely rolled his eyes. "It's okay. The house is a bit empty nowadays. Neville is moving out, so, your guests can have his room I suppose."
"Mister Longbottom is leaving? Is he ill?"
"No, just a business thing"
"Shame," Dobby said as he turned around and started to walk away toward a brick wall. "Shame that he did not leave sooner. Mister Longbottom smells bad."
Harry smirked. "That's not very nice… Even if it is true." He laughed a bit, trying to make sure Dobby didn't throw any more tantrums out of guilt. Luckily, Dobby didn't hear Harry or didn't care. He ran into a brick wall, disappearing from sight. Slowly, Harry left his corner and walked into the Post with the goblins still looking at him.
"Okay, show's over! Don't you have, um, goblin stuff to do?"
They muttered back to their cubicles and large, oak desks. Harry sighed, hoping all of his invitations were sent and that his party wouldn't be too awful. Just as Harry turned around and headed back through the wall he came into early, a nasally voice followed him. Something tugged on his trouser.
"Excuse me," it said.
Harry looked down at an old goblin, with long, white stringy hair and a Post uniform in dark blue and red. He did not wear a nametag or anything else to suggest he had an identity. The creature cleared its throat and then took out a small square piece of cardboard.
"Package for Mister Harry Potter," he said with his strange voice. The goblin walked away as fast as he appeared.
"What an odd package," Harry remarked.
Carefully, he looked at the thin, flat square covered in brown wrapping paper. He tore it off quickly to reveal a Muggle postcard. It was quite old looking, with faded yellow paper and worn out ink. There was a small date stamped at the upper right corner where a paper stamp usually would be. It was marked from five years ago, the day before his 13th birthday. The return address simply said 'Hogwarts: School of Witchcraft and Wizardry'. When Harry turned over the postcard, there was a short message written out very sloppily.
Harry,
Happy Birthday! 13! I still remember yeh as a baby boy… Yeh deserve this. Room 96.. The Post. Enjoy it.
Harry frantically searched for a signature. On the bottom there was something but it had been worn off. He could make out some of it though. ...agri… "Agri?" Harry said to himself. He mumbled it over and over until it hit him. "Hagrid."
His throat became stiff and a lump formed like when you're very upset about something and don't want to cry. Even though the gift and letter was from five years ago, it was like Hagrid had just written it. A part of him was still alive and well. Harry's eyes began to water a bit. Slowly, one tear circled his bottom eyelid and dripped off from the corner. It streamed down his cheek and flowed over his lip. Harry licked it away and quickly wiped his eyes dry.
He then took in several long, deep breathes, trying to get the lump from his throat to go away. As it did, Harry clutched the postcard and rushed over to the nearest Goblin pushing a cart of envelopes and packages.
"Pardon, pardon me," Harry said, clearing the rest of his throat. "I just got a letter. It's quite old. But I'm supposed to pick something up and I—"
The goblin pointed at a sign off to the far end of the Post room. High up, three floors up, there was a sign. "Pick-Up Window." It did not look like anyone was on line. That was a relief for Harry. He hurried along to that side of the room, making sure he did not lose the postcard. When he reached it, a spiraling staircase with sleek black railing led him up the floors. Harry tried to walk up them quietly, but every step he took made a creek. He hushed himself, but that didn't do any good. Luckily, the goblins ignored his noisy feet.
When Harry finally made it to the third floor, he found himself staring at a closed window. On top it read as it did before "Pick-Up Window." However, no one was there at all. Harry took out his free hand and knocked on the glass. No answer.
"How odd. Maybe they're on their lunch-break." Harry knocked once more. "Hello?"
Again, Harry knocked and then stopped. He looked back at the sign and read it once more to himself. "Pick-up Window… Pick up window…" Harry smiled and put down the post card on the ledge. He then took both of his hands and grabbed the bottom of the window. He lifted the wooden frame pushing it up until it reached the middle.
Suddenly, Harry felt his body being sucked forward. It was almost like a Dementor but far less painful. As his face twisted, Harry reached down his right hand and tried to grab the postcard. Just as his fingers were about to reach it, he felt his body pulled even harder, and he flew forward.
Harry laid flat on the ground of a very boisterous room. He lifted himself and looked around him. Literally, thousands upon thousands of cases were full of boxes and crates of letters. It was the biggest room he had even seen and been inside of. Goblins moved about carrying stacks of boxes ten feet high or more. After staring in awe for a few minutes, Harry looked down at his hand and realized he did not get the postcard in time. Luckily, he still remembered the room number. Ninety-six.
"Could someone please help me?" Harry asked.
Yet, no one stopped working. They continued pushing crates and loading packages and unloading packages. Actually, not one Goblin even looked at Harry. "Please, could someone help me? Any one?" Again, no one stopped.
Harry turned and saw what looked like a bell on the white wall. It was a round, ringer button, and it read, "Buzz for help." Seemed simple enough. Harry walked toward it and pushed it with his right index finger. A loud, screeching noise emerged.
At once, the Goblins stopped working and clutched their ears. The ringing rang on for several minutes until someone slapped Harry's hand. It was Eliza.
"Mister Potter, that is not for you."
"I'm really sorry," he said, still confused a bit.
Eliza turned to the buzzer and touched it once with her hand. It stopped immediately, and the goblins continued to work as if nothing happened.
"I just thought, well, it said to buzz for help, and," Harry tried to say.
Eliza smirked. "That's used by goblins only, an emergency button, in case someone got hurt. But no harm has been done. Oh, did I hurt you? I always do this. I hit people before asking."
"You ask someone if they want to be hit?" Harry asked laughing a bit.
"I must ask for everything. Does Mister Potter need help?"
He nodded. "I need to pick up a package. It's from five years ago though. It might not be there anymore."
"Room?"
"Oh, yes… Ninety-Six."
"Stay here."
Eliza walked off into the many cases of packages and letters. After turning a few corners, Harry lost track of her. He waited patiently. To pass the time, Harry tried to count the tiles he stood on. There were at least four hundred and thirty seven before he caught sight of Eliza returning to him. In her hands was a bronze key wrapped in a red bow and light blue ribbons dangled from it.
"One key," she said. Harry thought that was all, but Eliza then pointed to a very large four level case of boxes. "And two hundred and twelve boxes of mail."
"What? Did I mishear you? Did you say all those boxes are mine?"
She nodded her head and snapped her fingers. Immediately, a hoard of goblins grabbed the boxes and started carrying them out of the room.
"Where are they going with them? And what exactly is in them?" Harry asked stunned. He had never gotten so much mail before. Actually, he rarely even received letters at all.
"They're taking them to your home of course. We tried delivering them throughout the years but there was no house to deliver it to."
"Oh," Harry said, understanding her better. "That's because Voldemort destroyed it, and I was placed with a Muggle family."
The room was silent. The goblins carrying Harry's packages stopped walking and dropped them. Even Eliza stood with her jaw dropped and had trouble breathing. She quickly cupped her hands over Harry's mouth.
"No, no, you can't say His name here."
"But he's gone. He's been gone for over a year. His name was all over the newspapers two years ago. If it still bothers all of you, I'm very sorry. I just thought—"
"Shh. We're not bothered," Eliza whispered now. "Well, he has deceived many goblins before. We still don't think he's gone."
"He is, Eliza. Trust me. I would know best," Harry tried to assure her.
"A word of warning for you, Mister Potter. Don't mention his name around the likes of goblins. Others will not be as kind as us humble, delivery goblins."
And with that, she snapped her fingers and motioned the other workers to continue carrying the packages of mail. She walked off with them, leaving Harry holding his key alone still near the buzzer.
"Where am I supposed to go?" Harry shouted to her.
"Follow the packages," she responded and pointed again to the goblin hoard leaving.
Harry nodded and rushed behind them, holding his key in hand and trying not to make eye contact with the other goblin workers around him. He studied the key as he walked; it had old bronze edges and no markings to tell him where it went to. Perhaps Hagrid could tell him one day, if Hagrid ever did get better.