A/N: So, this is my fiftieth story. Wow. That's a heck of a lot of stories. And..

Oh, I'm just gonna come out and say it. OH MY GOODNESS HARRY POTTER IS OVER. WHAT AM I GOING TO DO WITH MY LIFE AFTER THIS?

Well, to me, it's never over. So I wrote this poem. Enjoy it. :)

Goodbye

Mr and Mrs Dursley

of number 4, Privet Drive,

were perfectly normal,

thank you very much.

who would've thought

that from those words

a legend was born?

The beginning,

wands and friendship,

innocence, trolls, flying,

whoa! Is that Quirrell dying?

and (somehow-somewhere-someplace along the line)

our story was born, began boring its mark in time

Next came

that blasted chamber of secrets,

opened by Salazar Slytherin, speaker of Parseltongue,

everywhere are rumours flung,

but somehow-somewhere-someplace Harry survives it,

and oh, God, we're deep in the Potter pit.

Sirius Black broke out,

is he going to get our hero?

But in the end, good prevails once more,

like in every epic tale of lore,

Sirius is good, and what's more he escapes,

it doesn't matter that he will soon be killed by drapes.

The Triwizard Tournament,

it begins badly.

Harry's life is on the line,

but of course, he emerges, from the first two tasks just fine –

then a deadly spy is discovered,

and all of a sudden, Voldemort is recovered.

Voldemort is going strong,

the Ministry thinks Harry's cracking,

times are hard,

life seems charred,

and then when it seems to be okay –

our favorites dog has to die,

and we all begin to cry.

Everything is a mess,

Voldemort is going strong,

teenagers fight and flirt and make each other sad,

what the heck is a Horcrux? It sounds pretty bad,

and then, from absolutely nowhere,

Dumbledore falls, leaves us, there's no one left to care.

And now the final battle

is ready to be fought,

we're flying over the countryside,

hearing of all that have died,

we're finding the Horcruxes, we're gonna hunt him down,

It won't be long till Voldemort loses his crown.

Turmoil, panic, absolute madness,

this is it, it's going to be over, Harry Potter's done,

with a flick of a wand and a jet of green light,

Voldemort's done, magic is no longer might,

We mourn now,

for all those who we've lost,

for Tonks, Dobby, Fred,

for Remus, Scrigemour, Moody, for George's ear bleeding red,

for Colin, Hedwig, and of course Lily and James

because without them, nothing would be the same.

Now the credits are rolling,

our hearts are beating

as we hear Hedwig's Theme swell for the last time,

our tears begin – being this sad has to be a crime,

the last stroke of magic has left the world,

sobs begin to swirl.

Goodbye, Harry Potter?

But Harry Potter is not over!

It lives in our hearts,

we will tell and tell the story,

on trains, to our children, to the driver of the lorry,

so do not say goodbye, for Hogwarts is home,

forever will its tale roam.

Say hello to the new generation,

a generation that will also love Harry Potter,

lift your wands, be a Gryffindor,

because hey – there's always Pottemore!

And we will never forget, how very hard lions can roar.

End