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Muggle Studies at Stratford Upon-Avon

That summer Sunday, James Potter discovers that all the numbers of Muggle "Felly's" are listed in one place. On a guide book called "Yellow Pages", and that can be found easily in a Stratford's Fellytonic red cabin, while his parents go crazy with joy visiting gardens and charming corners armed with a copy of "Muggle England Explained for Wizards."

James takes a while to understand how it works but eventually, he learns that all he has to do is search by the last name, get muggle money, dial the phone number and wait with his heart in his hand to hear her voice on the other side.

- Hello?

It is not her voice. James babbles. It must be her sister. Will she be so pretty like her? So sweet? So smart? So angelic? So surprising? So mysterious? What should she say?

- Eh ... Lily?

The voice on the other side sighs. Irritated.

- Lily!!!!!!! - squeals.

James has to move the receiver a few inches to avoid getting deaf. "I guess she's not as sweet as her sister".

He waits, hears fuzzy noises, and finally hears something.

- Yes?

Determined. The Fellytone is the most magical Muggle invention of all. Even more perfect than the bread toaster that Sirius showed him in his third year. The Felly get Lily's voice directly into James Potter's ear as if she were right there with him in Stratford, visiting the muggle who wrote "Romeo and Alberta" instead of being miles away, lost in a summer that James finds long and insipid without her.

- Hello?- Lily insists.

It's so difficult to describe the ring of her voice. If James was a bard he might notice. Or maybe not because his feelings for Lily are blinding and irrational and that issue makes words small, idiotic, diminished.

- Hello? Is there anybody in there?

In third-grade potions class, Lily Evans turned to ask for wings of beetle, and James got lost in the curve of his neck as he retreated her hair in his mind, lowered his eyes, and said "thank you" softly. At that time, he knew he was doomed forever, and ever since there are moments where he feels that if he doesn't get something from her - a "yes" look, a kiss that says "more", a caress that says "now" - he will go crazy.

- You will not be...?

He hangs up before hearing another word. Muggle tourists passing down Stratford's main street, enjoying the afternoon heading to the home of William Shakespeare can see a tall boy in glasses hitting himself repeatedly to the head with the telephone receiver. A couple of middle-aged who has come from Bath to spend the Sunday, remark that he looks heartbroken.

- Doesn't he seem distressed to you, darling? - asks the woman.

- Certainly - answers the husband - does not seem in a good mood.

They comment that one never knows with the youth and they continue their visit while the tall, dark-haired boy with glasses continues to mutter "Marry me, Lily" inside the cabin.