She had her own thing going on. She was independent, needed no one to speak for her. Her mind ran wild with theories, ideas, far too fast for her physical skills to keep up with. Over time, she strengthened her wandless and non-verbal magic because sometimes the worlds and the wand motions could not keep up with her brain. It frustrated her to no end when she had this brilliant idea that would just not work. It came to point where her hair would practically crackle like electricity on a wire because of her pent up magic. Sometimes, she would have the idea but it was so ambiguous that she couldn't find the words to explain it to herself so that idea could become actuality. Unfortunately, no one she knew could keep up with her.
It was a choice between a year in Azkaban or Hogwarts, and it was no-brainer when he chose Hogwarts. He was just minding his business, keeping his head low and back straight (he was a Malfoy, and Malfoy's don't slouch). And his business was mainly staying up trouble so he could actually start living a life as normal as he figured life could be. And that was until someone collided into him. His old self would have been extremely indignant, raising his voice to make sure his father would hear about it. But no, his father was nobody worth running too. He learned that too late. Instead he stooped to gather the books that flew out of the other person's arms.
As he picked up his bag, a quiet, "Oh, thank you…Malfoy," caused him to look up to see Granger standing there with hair still wild (but this time, he could actually see the magic) and books in her arms. He nodded, glancing at the book titles. Arithmancy. A lot of books on it.
It ended up happening a lot. She'd run into him with books on the strangest or the most mundane topics, but eventually they started talking and studying with each other. Everywhere he went, it seemed that she would already be there, back facing the door. She'd turn and look back him with a smile that was just for him. He did not know how this could be happening, but something was telling that it was a sign for something good.
She really did not mean to keep running into him (literally, too) on practically a daily basis. But it happened, and she was so glad for it. She'd smile at him, and he'd smile back. Whenever she was ready to give her brain a rest or food, she found that couldn't really walk away and stay away until she came back and brought him with her.
Her friends, the ones at Hogwarts and not, were as enraged as they could be. Ron practically ghosted her (stopped writing to her); Harry would not stop gently reminding her of the cons in his letters; Ginny would flare up every chance she could; Neville just didn't support that decision in his quiet way. Yet all of them said that it just couldn't be.
For her, she felt like she's been missing out. All the times she spent avoiding him (especially after the war) she could have been sitting next to him. It must be a sign that she kept running into him and finding him a better person each time.
Together they made what could have been a reality. A little late, yes, but not too late. Everyone knew she was brilliant, but few actually realized his potential. While his mind was not as fast-paced as hers, he was really good at staying focused on one topic at a time. He kept her on track, and she gave him new ideas. He was skilled at translating her ideas into something concrete. She found that he was actually at better at practically application and testing their theories out. Maybe it was ability to focus on the task while she would try to run multiple theory tests at a time. As time passed, they became a power couple. Both had brains, he happened to have money and space for their research, she had with the general population. They were practically inseparable, too, making headlines nearly monthly (or at the very least six times each year).
It took many years and severe cases of arthritis for them to stop active research, but their minds were still as sharp as ever. All they had to do was dictate to a magicked quill. Their great-grandchildren how they knew they were "it" for each other despite their childhood history.
"I kept running into him," she laughed, "That was my sign."
He responded softly, "Everywhere I seemed to be, I'd see her looking back at me. That was my sign."
And indeed it was. They were right when they, in the younger days, had whispered to themselves, "It must be a sign," after each encounter.
A/N: I love the song and knew I had to write a story to it! I like the potential in this short one-shot. Depending on what's going on with my life, I just might expand this. [And yes! It has happened before, that is, me revisiting a one-shot to expand it. A Simple Action is proof at that. :)]