Hello, everyone. Dirk here with another story.
I know that some of you will be annoyed that rather than writing one of my ongoing stories, I'm writing a new one. For that, I'm sorry... But also not that much, as fanfiction is a little outlet that I only write when inspiration hit - unlike my originals where I work and toil even when the inspiration is less than generous.
Though, I promise I'll try to find some time to work on others as well.
Now, a little warning. This story is mostly about cheating and domination, split between multiple perspectives. Also, I'm going to use a lot of tropes of the interracial genre, and going to use them in a relatively straightforward manner. Feel free to skip it if it's not your cup of tea.
The character here is actually from one of my original stories, and I found it entertaining to write.
Also, there won't be much overarching magical plot, so be warned.
There weren't many things that Darion Williams expected from life after he ended up in prison at the tender age of sixteen, thanks to one racist judge who decided his crimes deserved to be treated as an adult just because he stole a car, ignoring the fact that he had been forced by a gang.
That proved to be the end of Darion's ambitions of making something out of himself that didn't include being a rapper, gang hitman, or a sports star.
And since he wasn't good enough to get a sports scholarship, and his rhythm sense was missing, which left a career as a gang hitman his only choice, a choice that was supposed to end in an early grave, as the last thing he remembered was being ambushed by a rival gang member and gunned down.
Which left the question, why the hell he was in a train compartment, wearing some kind of black robes that looked like they came from somewhere in the middle of the fourteen century.
Yet, looked surprisingly familiar…
Darion would have assumed that his dressing choice wouldn't be as important as the fact that he found himself in an unfamiliar location in a moving vehicle despite the memories of bleeding a copious amount, when the train took a turn, and he came face to face with a familiar building.
One that was not supposed to exist.
Hogwarts.
"That's new," he murmured as he looked down, paying more attention to his robes. The first thing he noticed was that they were not fabric, but some kind of sturdy-looking leather. One that certainly didn't look like the kind the students wore. Then, his gaze went to some kind of holster in his arm, holding a wand.
Darion was sufficiently aware of the function of the wands — as he read the series several times during his prison stint. He tried to reach for it, only for his wrist to flick and the wand to fall into his hand.
A great display of reflex, suggesting endless practice.
As the train came to a stop, Darion found himself facing a choice. He could either go out and explain his situation, or ask for their help to go back to his world.
Or he could just stay there.
Considering his last memory, it didn't take long for Darion to come to a decision. He was already dead, after all. Which meant he had a second chance in life, the kind that he could enjoy as much as he could manage.
He didn't have much to think about his next step, as a knock was on the door the moment the train came to a stop. "Come in," Darion said, which was his only option considering the situation.
The door opened, and a bushy-haired brunette walked in.
A familiar, bushy-haired beauty.
"Hello, sir," said the familiar witch, making Darion smile in anticipation as his gaze danced down, then up again. A clear expression of distaste appeared on her face as he examined her body, enough to see the treasure under the loose robe. "My name is Hermione. Professor McGonagall tasked me to assist you to your quarters."
"Lead the way, then, Miss Granger," Darion said as he stood up, amused by the shock appearing on her face as he did so, and she registered his height.
Darion didn't know what caused him to suddenly find himself in a new world, but he was glad that it didn't change his height — and god forbid, his muscles. He was glad that he was still six-five, towering above the others, his shoulders highlighting the difference even further.
He certainly enjoyed the unease it caused on the smug white girl that was supposed to be just a fictional character.
"I didn't remember telling you my last name," she answered, looking back hesitantly as she did so.
"You're famous after the latest events," Darion answered as he followed her. It was risky to make such statements, but certainly not as risky as continuing to walk blind. And, since she was still wearing her student robes yet looked sufficiently grown up, it was not a difficult guess.
"I see," she murmured, her distaste clear at Darion's mention, suggesting she might not be very satisfied with her fame.
"I would have guessed that you earned enough brownie points not to be used as an errant girl," Darion commented as he followed her — luckily using a different entrance from the crowd of students.
"It's not an errand. I'm the Head Girl, and it's an honor to greet our new Defense Against Dark Arts teacher," she said, then followed up with a murmur as they reached a carriage. "Or at least, it was supposed to."
Darion acted like he didn't hear that, instead busy examining Theastrals that pulled the carriages.
Darion stepped into the carriage after a minute delay, and Hermione was still sitting in a corner. Darion sat directly in front of her, leaning forward, his stature enough to give a hulking feeling.
Her unease at his attitude was clear, which made Darion smirk, and he decided to use one of his favorite tricks to mess with her head. "So, tell me, Miss Granger, are you uncomfortable with me because I'm black," he said.
The speed with her haughty attitude and distaste shattered was simply beautiful. "N-no, of course not," she stammered, desperate to show that she was not one.
Darion was aware of just how unfair that statement was, but it had been a long while since he had concerned himself with any kind of fairness. Life had been unfair to him already, and he had no problem turning that around.
Especially against a tasty little piece of white ass like he had in front of him, unable to handle the mere suggestion that she might not be a bigot.
"Of course," Darion said, but with a deliberate cold attitude, showing that he had not believed a word she had said about that. He knew that, from experience, it was the best way to push that message down, leaving her desperate to prove that she was not a bigot.
Which had a tendency to make beautiful women give affirmative responses when they needed to retreat desperately instead.
It took several seconds for that to start working. "I wonder, how's the schedule of Ilvermony, and how that differs from Hogwarts," Hermione said, which gave Darion an idea about his possible roots in this world.
"I'm not familiar with Hogwarts' schedule," Darion answered, prompting her to explain while he did his best to get a sense of the world he found himself in, occasionally giving deliberately cold one-line answers to act like he had been gravely offended by her 'racism'.
Just like that, he could see the speed she rationalized the unease she was feeling against him; which was a big mistake, as Darion was a dangerous man, especially against a pretty little thing like her.
Yet, as they finally stepped out of the carriage, Darion found himself revisiting his earlier impression. He had a significant body of experience with young, well-educated white girls.
Some of those were the wallflowers who decided to visit the seedier parts of the city to prove to their friends that they were 'specials' while the others were the poor, unlucky gals that had found themselves in dire straits that made getting loans from gangs the palatable option.
Or providing certain services to get a cash infusion.
Darion had pulled the same little mock-offended trick many times.
None of those times worked as well as he had used that against Hermione. The insinuation that she was racist was enough to reverse her attitude completely. Maybe the excess was about her worship of authority, as while it had been a while since Darion had read the books, he remembered that trait of hers very clearly.
It seemed that the war hadn't been enough to erase that.
Too bad for her that Darion was a bad man, enough that he had no problem abusing the emotional hang-ups of a sexy, white, upper-middle-class girl, one that managed to give a sheltered aura even after the war.
There were many ways to explore racial inequality.
Hermione couldn't help but gaze down the floor as she watched the newest Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher disappearing into his quarters, her face burning.
She couldn't believe that she had managed to make the man self-conscious with her attitude, just because he was an African-American. Of course, the way he checked her at first made her feel uncomfortable, especially with his dark eyes, like trying to undress her.
But after his words, she realized that it was her prejudice that was talking. She was letting the half-baked stories she had heard about America influence her.
He was a teacher hand-picked by the magical American government with a diplomatic mission, to strengthen the ties between the two countries. Such a man would never check his students with sexual intent, which meant it was her prejudice that was directing her.
Her indirect attempts to apologize didn't work, which meant he didn't believe her intent. Maybe she should do something more impressive.
Like volunteering to be his teaching assistant, Hermione thought suddenly as she changed her direction, and started walking toward Headmistress McGonagall's office. Such a radical move would surely show that she had no prejudice against him.
After all, what could go wrong…
Darion was sitting on a couch, desperately browsing through the books he found to get a sense of his position. While he somehow adapted the reflexes of a magical world, the same miraculous connection didn't apply to the information that he was supposed to know.
Luckily, his luggage included a stack of letters explaining his new position, which was some kind of teacher exchange for diplomatic reasons.
After that, he had been going through the library, hoping to cobble enough familiarity with the technical terms not to reveal himself as a fraud the first time he had visited a classroom. But, as he was browsing through the book, he heard a knock on the door.
Even before he could have a conscious decision, his wrist flicked, and he found himself holding his wand, the disarming charm on his lips.
His habits from his old life mashed perfectly with the new world he found himself in. He was hesitant as he walked toward the door, but he was glad that there was a little hole at the door that he could use to check the identity of the visitor.
The only face that was familiar to him from experience was on the other side of the door, waiting with a patient yet enthusiastic expression.
"How interesting," Darion murmured as he pulled back, and opened the door, but not before removing his sleeveless shirt, leaving himself wearing only a loose pair of shorts that put his muscular frame on the display.
Since she visited him that late, she earned the right to midnight treatment.
Before he opened the door, he did several quick pushups, pumping some blood into his muscles that enhanced his already impressive biceps and chest muscles even further. Then, he opened the door and leaned against the door frame. It was a deliberate action, highlighting his muscles perfectly.
"Sorry to disturb you, professor—" she started speaking, only to freeze halfway as she took a note of his state of clothing.
"Come in, Miss Granger," Darion said, ignoring her freezing as he walked inside. Teasing her about her reaction would have been fun, but not as much as using the opportunity to force a decision on her.
"I can come later if you are busy, professor," she answered, which Darion ignored handily as he walked back to the living room, a big smirk on his lips as he did so. As a seasoned businessman of illegal kind, Darion was very much aware of the benefits of such small tricks.
And he had no problems applying those to the fun parts of his life, especially when it could be used to score a beautiful and vulnerable white pussy. It required never missing the fleeting nature of opportunities such as a late-night visit from a sexy brunette.
Of course, she clearly had her own reasons for the visit, but Darion was sure that those reasons would be asinine, most likely about somehow earning 'forgiveness' about her earlier accidental racism.
An excellent opportunity for Darion to push the envelope.
He watched Hermione's approach from the corner of his eye, noting that she was alarmed at his reaction. A smart reaction. Too bad she was silly enough to suppress that reflex and walk forward steadily, silly enough to forcibly ignore the risk she could feel in the air.
She squeezed her own hands as she followed him inside, though Darion noted that her clear apprehension didn't prevent her from locking her gaze on his muscular back.
He didn't bother hiding his grin as he sat on the large couch, his legs wide, her hesitant expression as she stood in front of him enough to send stirrings through his shaft.
"So, Miss Granger. Please explain why did you decide to bother me at this ungodly hour?"
Follow-up note: I have received a lot of messages, some negative, some positive, so let me reiterate. This story is very straightforward. If you didn't enjoy the first chapter, you probably won't enjoy the rest. I know it's a bit different from my other stories, feel free to skip it.