Here's a teaser for the story based on the poem. Continue at request.
Twilight was her favorite time of the day. The time when day melted into night and the sky was painted orange and pink and lavender. Her porch swing was comfortable, and she settled into its cushions, watching and waiting.
She closed her eyes and counted to ten. On Six, the night air suddenly froze, Seven, the clouds turned black. Nine was when the whistling usually began. She kept her eyes closed a moment longer, wanting to resist, to turn back, but she knew, as surely as she was sitting, that it was impossible to do so. At last, when the temptation became unbearable, she looked at the night sky.
There it was the bane of her existence. A shooting star.
When she was young and foolish, she had wished upon the star, and sealed her own fate. Oh, how she wanted to turn back time and stop herself, how she yearn for another star, another wish.
But facts were facts, and Hermione Granger had never craved ignorance as she do now, so the knowledge that was her curse would not plague her, and he would leave her, alone, and blissfully unfeeling.
-------------------------------------------------------------
Morning came slowly, the sky brightening a shade at a time, a sharp contrast to the way night fell. Hermione shivered as she wrapped her cloak closer to her slender frame. She sighed and waved her wand, sipping eagerly at the coffee that appeared in her hand. The stillness of the sunrise soothed her, casting out the lingering remains of regret.
Eventually, when she can no longer ignore the beeping of her insistent alarm, Hermione got up from the swing, and prepared for another day, another session of torture, of being denied her heart's desire.