Right...so the third princess book has been taking a much longer time to write than I expected (grr...grr...not again...), but now I've finally finished the draft and sent it off to my editor! It's about the same length as Princesses Don't Fight in Skirts--about 260 pages--but I expect the final version to be longer, as I tend to write more sparsely in my drafts. Not sure how long the editing will take--it will go through a content edit then a line edit--so at least two more revisions--but it should be done by the end of summer. Hooray!

Anyway, I'm so happy that the draft is done after eight long months! Also I'm really proud of the cover--because my lovely designer got a model and did a photo shoot for it! Looking forward to when the book is finally released~~

Excerpt:

“You can’t be serious. No. You can’t possibly mean you’re intending to sneak into Lady Wesley’s room.”

“Then let’s bet.”

“All right. I’ll bet you can’t pick the lock on the door.”

“Stakes?”

A moment of silence.

“Oh, are you letting me choose?”

“No! All right, if you really can pick the lock, I’ll coax Old Maurice to let you sit with him when he pilots Uncle’s steam carriage.”

“Fair enough.”

“And what about my reward?”

“No need, Bran. I assure you that the lock is no trouble. Why, I’ve picked the one in the throne room...”

“You what?”

“Well, I didn’t really finish because Ralph arrived. But if I had enough time, I could have slipped in.”

“Thank goodness you didn’t,” Bran heaved a sigh.

Just at the moment, the bell tower began to strike.

“Elaine, you’d better hurry, before someone comes this way.”

‘No problem. I’ll be done in a jiffy.”

A mischievous gleam in her eyes, Elaine produced her lockpicking kit--a wrench, a hook pick, and a tweezer.

“Bran, stay in the corridor and keep an eye out for me. Whistle if you see anyone.”

Elaine inserted the pick into the lock. She jammed and adjusted for a minute; there was an audible click, and the door creaked open, revealing a luxuriously furnished room.

“You did it,” Bran whispered, a tone of incredulity in his voice.

Elaine arched an eyebrow. “It isn’t that difficult, Bran. Here, all you have to do is--”

“You’d better hurry,” her cousin interrupted. “Lady Wesley could change her mind and return early.”

Elaine doubted that her governess would be in a hurry to finish her breakfast, which was usually a relaxing affair of coffee and croissants, but she tiptoed into the room and shut the door as quietly as she could.

Now it was time to carry out her nefarious plan. She scanned the room quickly--even with two grownup sons and a daughter, Lady Wesley was extremely fastidious about her appearance and sensitive about her age. Elaine counted seven bottles of anti-wrinkling face cream on the dressing-room table.

With such an overwhelming amount of cosmetics, it wouldn’t be hard to accomplish her mission. The corners of her mouth quirked up. This was going to be fun.

The princess bounded to the dressing table and climbed on the silk-draped mahogany chair. She examined the cosmetics boxes one by one until she found one that seemed to be of the right size. She opened her handy toolkit, extracted a coil of spring with a bright, colorful toy clown at the end, and a bottle of resin glue. Then she started to glue the spring to the bottom of the cosmetics box, pressing it down for a few minutes to ensure the spring was firmly attached.

So absorbed she was that she almost missed Bran’s whistle.

“Psst! Winifred’s coming!”

Winifred? What was she doing here? Shouldn’t she be attending the queen at breakfast?

Elaine tried to shut the lid. Since the spring was quite sturdy, it took her several tries before she managed to slam the lid completely shut. By the time she was done, Winifred’s footsteps were so close to the door she had no time to flee.

Frantically, Elaine looked for a place to hide. The bed? No, there was only massive solid wood beneath the mattress; unlike some other beds, it didn’t have four legs with plenty of hiding space. The curtains? They didn’t reach the floor. Her feet would show. The wardrobe, then. It was so big that Elaine was certain even Queen Valeria, who was well known for her plumpness, would fit in it.

Elaine dashed to the wardrobe and dove into a sea of frilly dresses. She closed the door just when she heard the sound of a key inserted into a lock.

The door creaked open. Light footsteps tread on the velvet carpet.

Elaine held her breath. It was dreadfully hot and stuffy and uncomfortable, being wedged in numerous folds of silk and velvet. Inwardly, she cursed Lady Wesley for bringing so many gowns to the palace. Was it really necessary to wear a different dress in the morning, afternoon and evening? She felt a sneeze coming and held her nose. If Winifred wasn’t going to leave soon, she was going to sneeze into Lady Wesley’s finest crimson silk ball gown.

Then came an ominous sound of the lid popping open.

Oops.

“Princess Elaine!” Winifred’s voice, stern but carrying an undertone of amusement. “I know you’re in here. Somewhere.”

Elaine put both hands over her mouth. She could almost picture Winifred, hands on her hips, looking irritated. But she was not going to give up without a struggle.

Chairs were moved aside, tables creaked, and the curtains swished and rustled. Winifred was certainly determined to find her. Then footsteps approached the wardrobe. The next second, the door was flung wide open.

“Oh Winnie!” Elaine said in cheery tones, as though it was normal to hide in the wardrobe every morning. “What a nice surprise. How did you know I was in here?”

Winifred placed her hands on her hips, looking exasperated. “What did Lady Wesley do to you?”

Elaine glanced at the dressing table.

Oops.

The clown in its striped suit glory was hovering in mid-air, completely protruding from the box. It swayed from left to right as though mocking her.

“I...er...thought she might like one? For her grandchild?”

“By planting a springing mechanism in her cosmetics box instead of simply buying a ready-made toy?”

“Well...er...yes.” Elaine scuffled the ground, not daring to look at Winifred straight in the eye. Perhaps it was best to offer a diversion. “How come you’re here, Winnie?”

“I was passing through this corridor and saw Prince Bran, looking like he’s keeping a watchout. Then I remembered how you were in a hurry to finish breakfast, so I suspected you two must be up to no good.”

“How clever you are, Winnie!” Elaine offered her most flattering smile. “I’ll just grab this and go--”

“Not so fast, Princess Elaine.” Winifred blocked her way. “We should have a talk with the king. Or with His Highness Ralph.”

Elaine’s face fell. “Please don’t tell them! I promise I’ll behave myself and be a good girl from now on.”

“That’s what you said when you put a toad in Miss Greenwood’s coat pocket. And then you went and put a tortoise in Miss Blair’s handbag.”

“Oh, but those were live animals,” Elaine insisted. “This is different. The glove is perfectly harmless, honestly, I swear.”

“Pssst!” Bran’s anxious face peeped out in the doorway. “I hear footsteps! Sounds like Lady Wesley is coming this way!”

Alarmed, Elaine scurried out of the room as though it was infested by rats. She didn’t even have to look up; the ominous click-clacking of heels hitting the marble floor could only belong to her governess.

Lady Wesley appeared. She was well into her forties, though not a wrinkle was visible on her heavily powdered face. Her velvet gown swished as she walked, her manner poised and graceful, every inch of the perfect lady Elaine was supposed to be.

“Elaine, child! There you are! Hurry along to the schoolroom, our morning lessons shall commence shortly.”

“Um...” Elaine darted a nervous glance behind her; the jack-in-the-cosmetics-box was still visible. “Certainly, Mrs. Wesley, but aren’t you coming with me?”

“Not yet. I need to get a new handkerchief, my old one was soiled by spilt coffee this morning. Such a pity; that handkerchief had the most exquisite handiwork along the hems.” Lady Wesley took a step towards the door, but Elaine stood in the way.

“I can get the handkerchief,” Winifred offered. “I’ll bring it to the schoolroom so you can start the lessons on time.”

“It’s easier I get it myself. You don’t know which drawer it’s in.” When Elaine didn’t budge, Lady Wesley started to sense something was wrong. “Child, why are you not letting me enter my own room?”

“Be...because it’s pretty messy at the moment,” Elaine said hurriedly. “A cat got in through the window and left muddy foot prints all over the carpet. You wouldn’t want to dirty your new gown, Mrs. Wesley.”

“A cat!” Lady Wesley put a hand on her bosom. Unlike many ladies, she detested feline creatures, especially the long hairs they left everywhere. “Well, send the servants to clean up immediately. Inform me as soon as they’re finished.”

She turned away and marched down the corridor. Elaine breathed a sigh of relief. But only for a second.

“Wait.” Lady Wesley whirled around. “How did you know the state of my dressing room when it should have been locked? Have you been lying to me, Elaine?”

So sudden was Lady Wesley’s question that Elaine was startled and automatically took a step backwards. Her back hit the door and it swung open.

Uh-oh. The jack-in-the-cosmetics-box sat on the dresser, the clown with its bright red nose waving cheerfully in the air.

Lady Wesley’s shriek pierced the air.

I had the fortune of meeting Hugh Howey a week ago, which was incredible! I became a fan since I was craving a new dystopian since Marie Lu finished her Legend trilogy (the only dystopian that satisfied me since Hunger Games) and decided to give Wool a try. I admit that in the beginning, I wasn't very immersed in the story, but by Wool 3, when Juliette was introduced, I was hooked. I couldn't turn the pages fast enough, I wanted to know what happens next. I finished the Wool omnibus, bought Shift and Dust and devoured those in a few days. I mentioned to my friend Irene, hey, I've been reading these awesome dystopian books lately by Hugh Howey...and then she told me, did you know he is coming to Taiwan in February?

My first response was, are you kidding me? But it turned out--it's true! He really was coming! *cue for fangirly squeal*

So when February came, I booked the train and headed to Taipei. Originally I intended to go to the Taipei Book Fair, where he was giving a talk, but Irene found that he also was making an appearance at Eslite bookstore (a lovely 24-hour bookstore), so we decided to go there instead of fighting through crowds. Besides, I always buy books online now, of which 99% are ebooks. 

At Eslite, Hugh had a panel discussion that he shared with another Taiwanese author, Wu Ming-Yi, who writes literary/naturalist fiction, but surprisingly both have a lot in common in writing : )

Here I have compiled a list of their writing tips. I took a few notes, but there was this girl who filled page after page—I should have borrowed her notebook! I’m sure some of the stuff Hugh said has been said before, but I’ll post it anyway:

Hugh:

1. When you get up at 5 am, you find out there are so many more hours in the day. (so true! I’m implementing this now, and surprisingly it isn’t as tiring as I imagined)

2. If you find writing a lonely job or don't feel like writing, kill off your characters. Then create new ones. New characters that you love and won't make you feel lonely.

3. Write the stories you want to read. I get nervous when facing a hundred people in this room (But Hugh looked completely in his element), so if I’m thinking about the thousands of readers who will read my books, I can’t write.

4. But don't ignore your readers either. Ignore the critics, the university professors, but also listen to your readers.

5. What's most important about my writing is that I try to write about real characters, about human nature. The great thing about Frankenstein, Margaret Atwood, Michael Crichton- is that their books make you think, make you reflect on human nature.

Wu Ming-Yi:

1.      An editor is vital. Especially with long stories, you'll always forget something or remember details incorrectly. I wrote a story with a character called A, but somehow in the end he was called B, and I never noticed until a reader alerted me.

2.      When you publish, you will always influence someone, so always keep your readers in mind. Chekhov wrote for money, but no one denies he is one of the world’s greatest writers. I am not saying that you have to write to market, but you need to have a number of ideal readers in mind.

3.      Writing is like farming; you labor and sweat and finally receive the fruits of your labor. Doing physical work is in a way similar to writing.

I hope this has been helpful! And of course, a BIG thanks to Hugh for visiting! I’ve only read his posts on kindleboards and then his books, never dreaming that he’d come to Taiwan one day (and so soon!), especially when we’re such a distant little island.

ps. If you haven't read Wool, go read it NOW!

Queen Voldemort was standing in front of the mirror again. For the billionth time, he asked the question, "Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's the most powerful wizard of them all?" Then he waited with a satisfied smile plastered on his snakelike face for the answer.

However, this time the mirror replied, "Alas...you cannot escape the fates! One day, sooner or later, Princess Harry will bring you down, rip the life away from your body!"

Voldemort was shocked. "No! It can't be true! The boy's dead; I ordered to have him killed!"

The mirror dropped her tragic tone into a conspiratorial whisper. "Not as you think. I have seen...in my crystal ball...over the hills and far away, Princess Harry dwells with the Seven Weasleys today."

Queen Voldemort was enraged. His hungry red eyes flashed with anger, his chalk-white face twisted and contorted, his appearance turned uglier than usual, if that could be possible.

It was time to plot out the murder. After a long time of deep thought, Voldemort decided to fashion a magic comb. It would possess a dangerous poison. Knowing Princess Harry, he always had trouble combing his hair, which kept sticking out in different directions. Voldemort was sure that the princess would have no objection trying out the product.

"Bring Severus Snape here." Queen Voldemort told his servant, Wormtail, to call for the potions master in the whole kingdom.

Within minutes, a man with a hooked nose and greasy black hair was brought to the throne.

"Severus, I want you to make a strong poison. It must be able to be concealed in this comb, and whoever uses it shall die as soon as it touches his hair."

Snape stared. Why such a ridiculous request? "And who will be the unfortunate victim...if I may ask?"

"Princess...none of your business, Severus. Just do what I said."

But Snape was already aware that the queen was after Harry. Much as he disliked the princess, the late king had saved his life, so he owed the child a debt. He never wanted to see the princess dead, even though he hated the very sight of the midget in glasses. Yet he could not disobey the queen. At last Snape concocted a poison which would make people fall down in a dead faint, but not really lethal.

Queen Voldemort planned to disguise himself using Polyjuice Potion, but he hadn't decided whose hair to use. Princess Harry recognized everyone in the royal palace. Lucky for Voldemort, a wandering minstrel, Quirrel, had come to the palace today. Using his charms, Queen Voldemort convinced Quirrel to let him share his body and find Harry.

Meanwhile at the Burrow, Princess Harry was singing happily as he swept the floor and washed the dishes.   Suddenly he heard a brisk knock on the door. Harry was startled, but he went to the door and peeped out from the little hole on it. To his relief, he didn't see the queen outside or any of the royal guards (Death Eaters is the official name, though). Instead, a young man wearing a purple turban stood on the porch.

"What do you want?" Harry asked as he opened the door.

The stranger smiled. "Ple...plenty of...goo...good wares to sell, sir." He reached inside his robes and took out a beautiful silver comb with intricate carvings. "Wou...would you...like...to?"

Princess Harry hesitated. He thought of his messy hair which never stayed in place. Surely it wouldn't hurt to give it a try? What if the comb cured his Hair-Sticking-Out-All-The-Time problem? Besides, it doesn't mean he has to buy the product now. He could let his mind decide after trying out that fashionable comb.

"Er...okay." Princess Harry gave in to temptation. He reached out to take the comb.

Alas! No sooner had the gleaming comb touched his hair, Harry felt an electric lightning rip through his body, and he fell down onto the floor as though struck by the Full Body-Bind.

"Ha ha ha!" roared Voldemort, but since his face was concealed in the turban, his laughter was muffled. Now the mission was completed, the queen couldn't wait to hurry back to the palace to the mirror.

When the Seven Weasleys came home, they were shocked to find Princess Harry sprawled on the ground. "Oh no!" squeaked Ginny, running to the limp form and getting on her knees. Her brothers came over.

"He's alive," said Bill, feeling for Harry's pulse. Charlie whipped out his wand and shouted, "Enervate!" But nothing happened.

"There must be some way." Ron said hopefully, racking his brain to come up with a plan. "Or maybe we can   ask the Know-It-All..."

"Hey, look at this!" Fred exclaimed, pointing at the comb entangled in Harry's hair. "He's been combing his hair before he fell."

"Take it out." ordered Bill, at a sudden inspiration.

George leaned down and did the job. It worked! Princess Harry's eyelids flickered open. He sat up. "Wha...what happened?"

"That's what we were going to ask." said Bill. "Don't you remember anything, your Highness?"

Princess Harry ran his thoughts back in his head. Since he wasn't affected by a Memory Charm, he soon recalled the man (Quirrel) selling goods. He had tried it on...and remembered nothing later.

"It must be the queen. Either she was disguising herself or sent a servant to kill you," concluded Charlie.

The other six Weasleys nodded their flaming red heads. They made the princess promise NOT to let anyone inside or try any more goods. ("You look good enough even with untidy hair," thought Ginny.)

At the palace, Queen Voldemort once more went up to his mirror to ask the question You-Know-What. The   mirror again gave the answer that made the queen flare up with hot wrath. "I'll have to think of a better plan," Voldemort muttered, going to the Restricted Section in the palace for ideas.

The Restricted Section was a large chamber lined with dusty shelves and tables. The entrance was a solid wall on which two entwined serpents were carved, their eyes set with great, glittering emeralds. (A/N:These two sentences are copied from CoS). The only way to enter was to say "Open" in Parseltongue.

No one except Queen Voldemort and Princess Harry could speak this unique snake language, but Harry never knew about this place, because reason number one: The queen never told him; reason number two: The way to the Restricted Section included a secret passage, and the entrance of it was located in a haunted girls' bathroom.

Queen Voldemort swept inside the chamber, and using his wand, made every book on the shelf zoom to his   outstretched hand. He leafed through the pages, searching desperately for a perfect plan to kill Princess Harry.

Suddenly, the solution hit him-botulism! Why hadn't he thought of it before? The poison he had put on the comb could be easily removed because it's easy to spot, but if he used food poisoning? "They'd have to cut up his stomach to find it," thought Voldemort, chuckling evilly.

Now it was time to find out Princess Harry's favorite snack. Queen Voldemort decided to take a tour in the kitchens. The house elves almost died of pride and honor to see the queen, and they all gathered around him like swarming bees, each trying to offer him as much food as possible. Voldemort couldn't make himself heard, so he had to scream, "WILL YOU ALL BE QUIET!"

Finally, Queen Voldemort stormed out the kitchens, making a vow never to return. He didn't find out what Princess Harry liked best. The house elves' squabbling were enough to make his greying hair turn white.

"What shall I choose then?" the queen mused, sweeping through the wide corridors. Because he was too preoccupied-and so was the person coming the opposite way-the two engrossed people collided.

"Your Majesty! I'm sorry...I didn't mean to..." said the other, getting on his knees.

"Who are you?" Voldemort didn't recognize the pale pointed face and blond hair.

"Lucius Malfoy, your Majesty. I...I'm a servant in your service." The man stammered, though his cold grey eyes were darting toward a heap of scattered stuff on the royal carpet. Voldemort was about to ban this Malfoy man from his court, but his curiosity came first.

"What is this?"

"Er...Every Flavor Beans, your Majesty. It's the newest product...imported from our neighborhood, Hogsmeade Kingdom."

"Why haven't I heard of this before?" demanded Voldemort, picking up a few coal black and dark green beans.

"How would we know that you like sweets?" thought Lucius Malfoy, but didn't dare to say it out aloud. Instead, he said in his most oily voice, "You may not want to try this, your Majesty. These beans...contain every flavor you can think."

"That so?" Voldemort popped the biggest one into his mouth, and chewed it up. "Raw fish! My favorite flavor!" (Much to Lucius Malfoy's surprise)

The queen was looking delighted. "I'll have a basketful sent here," he muttered. "Lucius, you will be promoted to the highest ranking position in my court."

With that, the Queen Voldemort departed. He could almost sing! This time-things will go well. They must.

Today, Princess Harry had finished scrubbing the floor at the Burrow. Feeling tired and sweaty, he thought about taking his Firebolt for a ride, but eventually decided against it. The dwarfs were so good to him; Harry would be very discomfited to ditch their advice, which he knew perfectly well was for his own safety.

Knock, knock, knock. Harry almost jumped. "Just ignore it, just ignore it..." he kept telling himself. But as the knocking grew louder and faster, the princess couldn't stand it any more. He strode to the door, flung it open, and shouted angrily, "What on EARTH do you want?"

Outside an old hunchbacked lady stood, carrying a basket full of beans. Princess Harry was immediately attracted to those beans, for they were of all colors-apple-green, sky blue, rosy red, shiny silver...

"Every Flavor Beans," announced the old lady, who was really Voldemort in disguise. "I am from Hogsmeade Kingdom, and wanted to sell some of these to your land. Would you like some, my dear?" ("That's the most disgusting term I've ever used," thought Voldemort.)

"Er...er..." Harry wasn't sure. Part of him was itching to try this fascinating food, but the other part remained dubious. What if...what if those beans were poisonous again?

Voldemort had already expected this hesitancy. "Well well...are you afraid?" Then he mentally slapped himself. "I meant...these beans are fun! Look, I'll eat one to prove they are good. Okay?"

The queen dipped his hand into the basket, and drew out a toffee-coloured bean. This was the only bean that wasn't poisoned in the whole lot. Then he popped it into his mouth, and nearly choked. Ear wax!

But Voldemort forced a painful smile, because he was afraid that the princess would be scared if he knew there were disgusting flavors. "Hey...this tastes good! Er...chocalate ice-cream!

Princess Harry looked impressed. Surely this tiny little bean wouldn't hurt him? "Er...I'll...I'll take one. Only one." he added hastily.

"Here you go. Pick your favorite color."

With baited breath, Queen Voldemort watched the princess select a red-and-gold bean and chew it up.

"Well?" the queen could hardly contain his eagerness.

"I...I..." Suddenly, the princess slumped on the floor in a dead faint.

"Ha ha ha!" cackled Voldemort. He was so excited that his plan had worked. But as he remembered last time's failure, he suddenly thought, "I guess I'll use my wand, just to make sure." (A/N: I know the best way is the Killing Charm, but there are Snow White guidelines to follow~)

Pulling out his wand, the queen pointed it at Harry's forehead. "Avada Kedavra!" he screamed.

A flash of green light pelted toward Harry, and almost shot back immediately. The spell had rebounded on Voldemort.

"Ahhhhhh!" The queen shrieked, for his body seemed to be seared through fire. The pain was intense. Then the pain gradually abated, and nothing was left but the weak soul of the once powerful notorious Queen Voldemort.

The poor helpless queen had barely enough strength to flee. But it was necessary to leave...any one, even a child, could hurt him with a blow. So Voldemort left the kingdom. No one knew where he really went, but it was rumored that he was living somewhere in Albania.

When the seven dwarfs came back, they were devastated to see Princess Harry lying on the floor again.

"No, not again," groaned Charlie Weasley.

"Let's see what it is this time," said Fred Weasley, with more energy than sadness.

"Oh no," whispered Ginny Weasley.

"I thought we had warned him to be careful," muttered Percy Weasley.

"Aw...come on. We'll fix him up!" Ron Weasley seemd to be pretty confident.

But no matter how hard they tried-even with Fred and George's efforts-Princess Harry remained unconscious. They used every kinds of spells and charms, but in vain. They noticed, however, that a new lightning-shaped scar had formed on his forehead.

"Guess we should ask the Know-It-All," said Ron in exasperation, after two days.

"You just want to see her again..." teased George, but Bill cut him off.

"Ron's right; we have no choice."

The Know-It-All lived in a library somewhere at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. She was a young woman with bushy brown hair and rather large front teeth. She was known to be bossy and commanding, but since she possessed such a wealth of knowledge, people still would come often to ask advice. Last time the dwarfs visited her because Ginny Weasley had a terrible illness.

The Know-It-All was sitting on a large rocking chair reading when the dwarfs arrived. Several heavy books scattered in a messy circle around her on the floor.

"Ron, you go first." Fred gave his red-faced youngest brother a shove.

"Shut up," said Ron, pushing back. Bill pretended not to have seen them.

"Miss Granger? Sorry to have bothered you, but we've got a real problem on our hands now."

The Know-It-All was interested and asked many questions. Bill and Charlie gave the details of how Princess Harry escaped from the palace, how he came to stay at the Burrow, and how the queen twice plotted to kill him.

"What can we do?" Ginny asked in a tearful voice.

The Know-It-All didn't answer; she was already pulling down book by book from the shelves. "Hmm...the only way is...yes, that's the only way..." And she gave them the answer in a low, but firm voice.

"WHAT?" bellowed Ron. "You can't be serious! No way!"

"I TOLD you it's the only way!" shouted the Know-It-All. She felt very angry at Ron Weasley for yelling at her after she had looked up at least twenty books for the solution.

Ron responded with another heated remark, and the two quarreled in front of the Weasley twins and Ginny's amused eyes.

"Ok, stop it, Ron." said Bill, pulling Ron away. "Miss Granger, thank you very much. We'll do our best to see what can be done."

"All right." The Know-It-All was still glowering.

Back to the Burrow, the dwarfs laid the princess carefully and gently into a large silver casket. He looked so cute and innocent and peaceful, lying in there with a bunch of fresh flowers tucked under his folded hands. A wreath of flowers was put on his black head, too. On the casket was titled in gold letters-Princess Harry James Potter.

Every day one of the dwarfs would stay and guard the casket-which was carried to a small hilltop near the Burrow-while the other dwarfs went digging.

On Sunday, all seven dwarfs went to the hilltop, sat beside the coffin, and wept, even Percy Weasley. They sorely missed Princess Harry, even though he wasn't with them for very long.

Suddenly, they heard a low, rattling noise. Something in a cloak and hood was moving up onto the hill. A wave of sickening coldness swept over the seven dwarfs.

It was a dementor.

Bill Weasley gritted his teeth. This was the solution the Know-It-All had found out. Only through the deadly dementor's kiss could the most deadly poison be sucked out.

Bill nudged Charlie, and together, they used their wands to pry open the silver casket. The dementor swept up to the casket, and bent down. It clamped it's jaws over Harry's, and the poisonous bean was removed.

Princess Harry opened his eyes, and sat up. "Where am I? Have I fallen asleep again?" Then seeing the grotesque form towering before him, the princess yelled. The thing he feared most was a dementor.

So the princess leaped up and ran away, as fast as he could, away from the hilltop, away from the Seven Weasleys, and away from the wizard kingdom.

THE END