Absolutely! Let’s add Luca’s dialogue—because you know Snape’s going to say something, and Luca Vitiello isn’t the type to sit there quietly and take it. Here’s the updated version with Luca’s response to Snape added in perfectly.
The tension in the dungeons of Hogwarts could be cut with a knife.
Luca Vitiello—6’5 of pure, inked menace—leans back in his chair at the far end of the lecture hall, arms crossed over a chest covered in black ink. Tattoos snake up his neck, crawl down his thick, veined forearms like a warning. His dark hair falls in messy waves over his brow, and those stormy gray eyes—the kind that promise chaos—are locked on a single person.
YN Malfoy.
The eldest daughter of Lucius Malfoy, the unapologetic head girl, the girl with fists like fire and an attitude that could burn down the castle if it wanted to. Her black crop top hugs her curves like a second skin, her loose-fitting high-waisted jeans cinched at the waist, and that leather jacket—the leather jacket, zipped halfway up, with the head girl badge gleaming on the lapel—makes her look like she’s ready to run the entire school.
Thunder thighs. A wide, round, fluffy ass that drives every boy—and more than a few professors—absolutely insane.
Today, she’s not in uniform—because it wasn’t washed, she said, and no one dared question her.
Sitting dead-center in Snape’s lecture, head held high, gaze fixed straight ahead like she owns the entire dungeon.
And Luca? Sitting at the very back, his usual seat right beside her conspicuously empty.
They’d fought. Over something stupid. Ego. Pride. But it doesn’t matter. Because Luca’s eyes are burning holes into her—possessive, furious, longing. He’s gripping the edge of the desk like it might shatter under his fists, his jaw clenched so tight it looks painful. Every student in the room—hell, even Snape himself—can feel the electricity crackling between them.
Every time YN flicks her gaze over her shoulder, their eyes collide—a dangerous mix of I want you and I’ll kill anyone who touches you. They hold the stare for a second too long before snapping away, like they hadn’t been caught.
But the looks keep happening. The glances. The heat.
Everyone knows. No one dares say a word.
Until Snape clears his throat, voice as sharp and cutting as a blade.
"Miss Malfoy, Mr. Vitiello, if your… personal distractions are going to disrupt my lecture, I suggest you leave."
The entire room goes still. No one breathes.
And then—slowly, deliberately—Luca leans forward in his chair, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that makes the hair on the back of everyone’s neck stand up.
"With all due respect, Professor..." His gray eyes flash, locked on Snape, a silent warning in every syllable. "...mind your own fucking business."
The air crackles with tension, a challenge simmering just beneath the surface.
Snape’s nostrils flare, but even he knows better than to push the Vitiello heir too far.
Luca doesn’t back down. He never backs down.
He leans back in his chair again, gaze returning to YN like no one else in the room matters.
Luca (his voice low, dark, and dripping with promise): "Keep looking at me like that, tesoro, and I’m not responsible for what happens next."