Moo-d Swing: Love, Theft, and Chaos

Luna was beyond livid. She wasn't simply annoyed, wasn't mildly inconvenienced, wasn't existing in one of her usual serene yet exasperated states of dreamy frustration. No, this was something else entirely. This was a deep, burning, all-consuming rage, the kind that made her magic hum beneath her skin, the kind that turned her veins into lightning, the kind that made her vision sharpen with singular, furious purpose.

Draco Malfoy had stolen from her.

Not just any theft, not something simple or forgettable, not something she could dismiss with a sigh and an arch of her brow. No, the absolute menace of a man had walked into her life, thrown a jealous, possessive, borderline feral tantrum outside her home, and in a fit of sheer insanity, kidnapped her cow.

Her cow!!!!

The moment she Apparated outside of his grand, sprawling estate, she was already fuming, already clenching her fists so tightly that her nails bit into the skin of her palms. Her jaw ached from the force of grinding her teeth together, and her magic crackled just beneath the surface, simmering, pulsing, whispering to be unleashed. The nerve. The audacity. The sheer, unhinged, absolutely Malfoy-esque entitlement of it all.

She didn't pause. She didn't think. She stormed through the front gates with all the grace and fury of an oncoming storm, her long cloak billowing behind her like the wings of an avenging angel. Each step up the grand stone staircase was another reminder of the violence she was barely restraining, the sheer depth of her absolute, unrelenting need to strangle him for this absurdity.

By the time she reached the door, she had abandoned all pretense of politeness. She raised her fist and pounded against the wood so hard that the entire frame shook beneath the force of it.

"MALFOY!" she bellowed, her patience long gone, her voice echoing across the quiet estate.

A full thirty seconds passed before the door finally swung open—far too slow, like the man behind it had zero urgency, zero regret, zero fear for the absolute wrath waiting on his doorstep.

And there he was.

Draco Malfoy.

Disheveled. Barefoot. Shirtless, for Merlin's sake, looking unreasonably good for a man who had just committed grand larceny. His normally sleek, aristocratic composure was gone, replaced with something much lazier, looser, his silver-blond hair an unstyled mess, his lips still swollen from sleep, his voice low and raspy when he finally opened his mouth.

"Lovegood," he greeted, like she hadn't just been knocking hard enough to send his ancestors rolling in their graves.

His tone was maddeningly indifferent—sleepy, bored, completely devoid of any sense of self-preservation.

Luna saw red.

"Give. Back. Dandelion. IMMEDIATELY!" she snapped, her voice shaking with fury, disbelief, and the sheer gall of this situation.

Draco blinked.

There was a beat of silence.

And then—the absolute bastard smirked.

"Who?"

It was not a genuine question. It wasn't confusion. It was mockery.

Luna's entire body locked up.

"My fucking cow, Malfoy!" she hissed, already pushing past him, already storming into his ridiculously extravagant, over-the-top home without invitation, without a second thought, without so much as slowing down. "Where is she?"

Draco didn't stop her. Didn't move to stop her.

He just watched.

Watched with a lazy smirk, arms crossing over his bare chest, expression so smug, so unbearably entertained that it took every ounce of Luna's willpower not to hex that insufferable face off his stupid, handsome skull.

She marched through his house like she owned the place, her dress billowing behind her, her magic seething, her anger vibrating through her entire being like a living thing.

By the time she reached the lavishly decorated living room, her attention snapped away from his ridiculous, expensive taste—because there she was.

Dandelion.

Standing proudly in the middle of Draco Malfoy's pristine, offensively elegant living room.

Unharmed.

Unbothered.

And worst of all—comfortable.

Luna exhaled sharply, rushing forward, her hands immediately reaching out to cradle the fluffy, ridiculous little face of the animal she had raised since birth, the animal this criminal had STOLEN, the animal that was clearly loving every second of being a spoiled little princess in Malfoy's ridiculous mansion.

"Come now, love," she cooed, trying to soften her voice, trying to coax her baby away from this madness, trying to remind Dandelion where she belonged. "Mummy will take you home."

And fucking Dandelion, the traitor, the absolute disloyal little menace, turned her head toward Luna with an expression of pure indifference, let out a small, unimpressed moo, and… did not move.

Luna stared.

Dandelion blinked at her.

Luna's eye twitched.

Her anger rekindled so violently that it actually stunned her for a moment.

She turned slowly, her head snapping toward Draco, her entire body radiating fresh, burning outrage.

"What did you feed her?"

Her voice was deadly, accusatory, scandalized, each word laced with the full weight of betrayal.

Draco, who had casually leaned against the doorway to watch her absolute mental collapse in pure amusement, smirked even wider and shrugged.

"Cereal and candy."

Luna's entire being went static.

She actually, physically, had to pause, as if her mind could not process the sheer level of idiocy she had just heard.

Then, slowly, dangerously, her fingers twitched at her sides.

Draco saw it and grinned.

"Bastard."

His smirk turned smugger, if that was even possible, his shoulders relaxed, his posture confident, his entire aura vibrating with self-satisfaction.

"Grass," he said lazily. "Obviously."

Luna narrowed her eyes.

"Do not steal my animals ever again, Malfoy."

And just like that, the amusement was gone.

In less than a second, his entire demeanor shifted. His smirk faded, his eyes darkened, his body tensed, his presence thickened with something heavy, something unspoken, something dangerous.

Luna saw it, felt it, breathed it in, her magic tangling with his, her heart thrumming with a warning she did not heed.

The air between them crackled, thick with something molten, something dark and electric, something alive and waiting to consume them both whole. Luna could feel it pressing against her skin, slithering into her lungs, coiling low in her stomach like a creature waking from a deep slumber. She had spent years wandering through the world untouched, untethered, floating through moments like a ghost, never quite belonging to anyone, never quite letting anyone belong to her. But now, here, with him, she felt fixed in place. A star caught in the unrelenting orbit of a collapsing sun, unable to escape the pull, even if she wanted to—especially if she wanted to.

Draco wasn't breathing. He wasn't speaking. He was just watching her, every inch of his body held in some agonizing, trembling, precarious balance between restraint and absolute destruction. His fingers twitched where they hovered near her waist, like he was trying to convince himself not to touch her, like he was fighting a battle he had already lost. His jaw was clenched so tightly that she could hear the faintest crack of his teeth grinding together, his entire frame rigid with the effort to keep himself in check, but it was useless.

Because she had already undone him.

He was done fighting it.

And fuck—so was she.

Draco moved first, his hand catching her chin in a firm grip, forcing her to look up at him, forcing her to see exactly what she had done. His fingers weren't gentle, weren't soft, weren't hesitant—they were possessive, unrelenting, a brand against her skin. He tilted her face just slightly, just enough to take her in completely, to memorize the exact moment she surrendered to him, to himself, to whatever the fuck this was between them.

His lips ghosted over hers—not touching, not quite, just there, just waiting, just teasing her with the unbearable heat of what was about to happen. Luna felt her breath catch in her throat, her body tipping toward him without thinking, without meaning to, without even realizing that she had already lost the battle she had pretended she was fighting.

His smirk was devastating, dangerous, dripping with arrogance and triumph, but it didn't last long, because when she exhaled, soft and warm against his lips, his resolve shattered completely.

One second, they were toe-to-toe, barely touching, trapped in the unbearable stillness of waiting—the next, he was on her.

His mouth crushed against hers in a brutal, desperate collision, his hands finally grabbing, gripping, claiming, taking like he had been starving for this, like he had been waiting for this moment his entire life. There was nothing slow, nothing careful, nothing remotely civilized about the way he kissed her. It was all teeth and tongue and heat, all pent-up frustration and unspoken confessions, all possession and punishment wrapped into one devastatingly perfect moment.

And Luna?

Luna let herself burn.

She kissed him back just as fiercely, just as angrily, just as wildly as if she wanted to consume him from the inside out, to drag him down with her into whatever madness they had created. Her nails dug into his arms, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, fisting it tight, refusing to let him go, refusing to let herself go. She could feel the way his body was shaking, trembling from how hard he was holding himself back, from how much he wanted, from how much he needed.

She could feel everything.

And it still wasn't enough.

Draco growled against her mouth, biting, sucking, devouring like he wanted to mark her, ruin her, make her remember. His hands were everywhere, in her hair, at her waist, gripping her hips hard enough to bruise, pulling her against him like he wanted to brand her into his skin. And Luna let him, let him take what he needed, let him steal her breath, her sanity, her fucking soul.

But then, just as suddenly as it had begun, he stopped.

He wrenched himself away, his breathing ragged, his forehead pressed against hers, his grip still tight, still unrelenting, like he was trying to keep himself from dragging her right back in. His pupils were blown wide, his lips red, kiss-swollen, his chest heaving with the effort to hold himself back from breaking her apart completely.

And then, just when she thought he might let her go, just when she thought he might pull away, his voice dropped to something low, dark, something that sent a dangerous thrill skittering down her spine.

His hand shot out with a force that was just shy of desperation, fingers finding the delicate curve of her jaw, gripping her face with an intensity that was both demanding and reverent, thumb pressing against the plush softness of her bottom lip, tilting her head up, forcing her to meet his gaze, forcing her to see him, to acknowledge the absolute wreck she had turned him into. 

His breath was uneven, strained, his body taut with restraint, every muscle locked up in an effort to keep himself from shaking her apart, from breaking her open, from demanding answers in a way that neither of them would come back from.

"Who was there yesterday with you, love?" 

The words weren't just words, they were something deeper, something heavier, something with razor-sharp edges that cut through the thick silence between them. His voice was rough, unsteady, raw in a way that he rarely allowed himself to be—not quite a plea, not quite a demand, but something that existed between the two, something far more volatile, something far more fragile.

Luna didn't look away. She held his gaze, unwavering, calm in a way that made his skin prickle, made his teeth clench, made his entire being coil with the unbearable weight of waiting. She let the silence stretch between them, taunting, testing, letting him hover on the brink of complete devastation, watching him teeter on the edge of something irreversible, something explosive. She was toying with him, and he knew it, and yet—he let her.

And then, finally—

"Rolf."

His entire body locked up.

Draco felt the words land like a hex, sharp and unrelenting, lodging themselves deep into his ribcage, sending something cold slithering down his spine, something that felt far too much like a curse. His grip on her tightened just slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind her that he was hanging onto this moment with fraying self-control, that he was barely keeping himself from unraveling at her feet.

She saw it—the flicker of something lethal in his stormy gaze, the unrelenting, violent flare of possession that burned there, the undeniable shift from confusion to anger, from jealousy to something darker, something much more dangerous.

"He was the one who helped me get my coffee shop."

Draco's nostrils flared, his fingers twitching where they held her, but he said nothing. He didn't trust himself to speak, didn't trust himself to breathe, didn't trust himself to let this conversation continue without doing something reckless, something vicious, something unforgivable. But then—

"But the bank is going to foreclose it because I didn't have any revenue."

And just like that—

Everything shifted.

The air between them changed so abruptly that it nearly made his head spin. The tension of jealousy and possessiveness and desperate need was still there, but suddenly, it wasn't the most important thing in the room anymore. This wasn't about him anymore. This wasn't about another man, about the suffocating fury that had been eating away at his sanity since she first whispered that fucking name.

This was about her.

This was about Luna losing something she loved.

Draco's grip loosened, just slightly, just enough for her to feel the shift, just enough to tell her that the storm inside him had found a new target. His anger was still there, but now it was aimed elsewhere, now it was sharpening itself into something far more dangerous than simple rage. His jealousy had been all-consuming, but this—this was something else entirely.

Because no one took from Luna Lovegood.

Not the Ministry.

Not the fucking bank.

And certainly not fate.

His jaw ticked, a muscle jumping at the edge of his cheek, the heat in his blood turning ice-cold as something settled, something final, something that told her that whatever was about to happen next was not a discussion, was not up for debate, was not something that could be undone.

His magic hummed beneath his skin, a living, breathing thing, a beast that had just found a new reason to bare its teeth. His entire body was thrumming with a dangerous, lethal energy, the kind that felt like the start of a war, the kind that promised devastation in its wake, the kind that whispered, if something tries to take from me, I will burn the entire world to the ground to make sure it never happens again.

Then, softly, deliberately—

"You're not losing that shop."

Luna inhaled slowly, watching him, reading him, measuring him, trying to see just how far he was willing to take this, how much destruction he was willing to bring to the world for her.

But before she could say anything, before she could tell him that she didn't need saving, that she could fight this battle on her own, that she wasn't his to protect—he was already moving.

Already calculating.

Already plotting destruction.

Draco Malfoy had made up his mind.

And when Draco Malfoy made up his mind, the world bent to his will.

Before Draco could even part his lips to argue, to insist, to promise that he would fix this, that he would not let her lose something she had built with her own hands, Luna was already tilting her head, already smiling at him with that soft, maddening, quiet knowing, the kind of look that made his stomach tighten in ways he didn't want to acknowledge, made his pulse slow in an entirely different way. 

She was calm—too calm, as if she hadn't just shattered his world with the casual revelation that her shop, the place where she had completely undone him, where she had dragged him into whatever this was between them, was about to be taken away. And yet, she looked at him as if none of it mattered, as if she wasn't standing in front of a man who was fully prepared to burn down the entire financial system in her name.

"Thank you, but it will be okay," she murmured, her voice so infuriatingly steady, so unwaveringly certain, so impossibly serene that it sent a violent spike of frustration through his chest, his jaw locking at the absolute absurdity of her words. "I will be okay, darling."

She said it like it was fact, like the universe had already decided on her behalf that things would work out, like she hadn't just admitted that the one thing she had built for herself was on the verge of slipping through her fingers. And that was unacceptable.

Draco's jaw tightened, his fingers twitching, curling into fists at his sides as he rejected the very notion of letting her lose. His magic bristled beneath his skin, demanding action, retaliation, war.

"It will be more than okay, love," he countered, his voice dropping into something lower, something firm, something absolute, the kind of tone that left no room for argument. His fingers ached to reach for her, to wrap around her wrist, to hold her in place, to anchor her to something that wasn't crumbling beneath her feet, but he didn't. Instead, he clenched his fists harder, willing her to see reason, willing her to understand exactly what she had ignited inside of him. "Let me take care of you."

Luna exhaled softly, shaking her head, her expression unreadable, something caught between amusement and quiet exasperation, something so deeply, infuriatingly her that it sent a sharp pang through his chest.

"It is not necessary, Draco. Thank you."

The dismissal was gentle, but final, her hands moving in an almost careless wave, as if she was trying to brush away the weight of the moment, trying to diminish the sheer force of his determination, as if she didn't notice the way his magic was already curling around her like an unspoken vow, like a promise etched into the very fabric of the air.

Then she delivered the final blow.

"We only know each other for days."

Draco exhaled through his nose, slow, controlled, forcing himself to breathe past the sheer absurdity of that statement. He tilted his head slightly, narrowing his eyes, his lips twitching in something that was almost a smirk, but something far more dangerous, far more knowing, far more personal.

"We know each other for years."

Luna huffed, soft but amused, shaking her head again, but this time—this time, she lingered.

She didn't look away, didn't turn the conversation into something lighter, didn't dismiss him as easily as she had before. Instead, she studied him, and it sent something twisting low in his gut, something that felt too much like satisfaction, too much like progress, too much like victory.

"Not like this," she murmured at last, her voice quieter now, more thoughtful, something wrapped in silk, something honest.

And then—because she was Luna Lovegood, because she couldn't let a moment be anything other than what she wanted it to be, because she was the most infuriating, unpredictable, impossible person he had ever met—her lips curled, her eyes sparkled, and she added, with a teasing glint—

"And you are most definitely crazy."

Draco grinned then, slow and sharp and devastating, because wasn't that the fucking truth?

"When it comes to you?" he mused, his voice lower now, rougher, the kind of voice that crept beneath the skin, settled in the bones, demanded attention.

He leaned in—just slightly, just enough to feel the way her breath caught, just enough to watch the way her body reacted to his proximity, just enough to let her feel the weight of his words, just enough to let her understand that he was not saying them lightly.

"Absolutely."

His fingers ghosted over the edge of her sleeve, barely touching, barely skimming, but enough to make her still, enough to make her watch him, carefully, curiously, warily.

"When it comes to something that you care about?" he continued, his voice softer now, but still soaked in sincerity, dripping in something that wasn't just a promise, wasn't just an offer—it was a warning.

"I'm definitely crazy."

Luna studied him then, really studied him, and Draco let her, let her look, let her see whatever she was searching for.

And then, as if the past fourteen years had somehow crawled back into the room between them, he said the words before he could stop himself, before he could remind himself that it didn't matter, before he could even think.

"I signed your silly petition when we were at school."

Luna blinked, startled, her lips parting just slightly as she processed the confession, as if she had never considered the possibility that he, of all people, might have done something so—uncharacteristic.

"It's not silly, thestral lives are important," she corrected immediately, her voice firm, unwavering, carrying that same effortless certainty, that same unshakable conviction that had once made people mock her, dismiss her, ignore her.

And fuck—he had been one of them, hadn't he?

"And only two people signed it," she added after a beat, tilting her head, her eyes searching his face for a lie, for a contradiction, for an easy way out.

"And one of them was me."

Draco held her gaze, steady, unyielding, letting the silence stretch, letting the weight of the moment sink in.

And then—because clearly, he had lost all sense of reason, because she had already unraveled every logical thought he had ever possessed, because he wasn't thinking anymore, only acting on sheer instinct, he asked the one thing he had never allowed himself to ask before.

"Did you like me in school?"

The second the words left his mouth, he almost regretted them. Almost.

Luna, however, to his absolute horror, hummed.

A small, amused, completely unbothered hum.

"No."

Draco blinked, blindsided.

"I fancied Theodore."

He jerked back as if he had been physically struck, his entire expression morphing into pure betrayal.

"Crushing my ego, princess."

Luna smirked, biting her lip, as if the very concept of his suffering delighted her beyond words.

And then—because of course the moment couldn't stay serious for more than five seconds, because fate apparently hated him, a sudden rustling noise shattered the tension, followed immediately by the unmistakable, horrific sound of something tearing.

Luna's expression flickered from mischief to horror in record time.

"Dandelion, do not eat that book!"

Draco turned, and sure enough, his stolen miniature Highland cow was standing right in the middle of his fucking living room, happily munching on what appeared to be a very, very expensive leather-bound tome.

Draco groaned, dragging a hand down his face, his patience shattered beyond repair.

"She had so much fun," he muttered, rubbing his temples. "The elves weren't pleased with my new pet."

Luna glared.

"My pet."

Draco grinned, stepping closer, lowering his voice, watching the way her magic hummed beneath her skin, the way her breathing shifted, the way the air between them charged.

"She can stay."

Luna narrowed her eyes.

"She can have sleepovers sometimes," she corrected, her expression firm, but her lips twitching in amusement.

Draco let out a low, dark chuckle, something smug, something victorious, something that promised far more than a stolen cow.

"You'll let her stay," he murmured, leaning in, his breath ghosting over her lips.

And fuck—they both knew he wasn't talking about the cow anymore.