(Note: If you haven't yet read Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality, read it. Now. Just trust me. If you can't trust a stranger from the Internet, who can you trust?)
Among the many worlds out there,
A boy like this is still quite rare.
Ensconced within his happy home,
With many an intriguing tome,
He spent most of his nights and days
With Feynman, Kahneman, and Bayes.
He filled his head with all the best
Ideas that stood up to test:
All life evolved, space isn't flat,
And no man could become a cat.
Well, that all changed, one fateful day,
When Hogwarts owled him to say,
"Come study here! It's lots of fun!
You're magical - a wizard's son.
We need you to defend the Light!
Just promise us that you don't bite."
He should have been quite skeptical,
But someone named McGonagall
Showed up to offer evidence.
(Though - aaargh! - it still made little sense.)
She told of Dark Lord Voldemort,
A villain of the meanest sort,
Who'd filled the world with fear and hate,
Till Harry's Dark-Lord-Killing trait
Had wiped the tyrant off the map
Forevermore... or not. Aw, crap.
There's more to tell of this boy's tale,
Like breaking witches out of jail,
Redeeming jerks, time-travel pranks,
And auto-thieving coins from banks.
There's future-seeing soda pop,
Insanity in clothing shops,
Old men pretending to be wise,
And bullies getting hit with pies.
There's self-reflective Sorting Hats,
Conspiracies, clandestine chats,
Young children playing army games,
And chickens bursting into flames.
He's learning things and growing strong
To try to make the world less wrong,
But all his work will come to nought
If there's no ending to the plot.
Don't leave us hanging, or we will
Come find you with intent to kill.
Your time is valuable, we know,
But please write more! Or this poem's last line will never scan.