Countess Holmes

Fandom(s): Harry Potter and BBC Sherlock
Pairing: fem!Harry/Mycroft Holmes
Author’s Note: This is a little sequel that I wrote to a gift ficlet I received for my birthday (?) back in 2012/2013. What you need to know is that Regina (fem!Harry) is the daughter of Lord Voldemort and Lily Evans and was chosen by Mother Magic to unite the Muggle and Wizarding worlds. The Muggle representative is none other than our favourite Mycroft Holmes, and this takes place just after the wedding when Regina knows she will never see her home again, never see magic (not that she was ever permitted to do magic before), and that she is now married to a rather handsome stranger.

Warning(s):

arranged marriage, affairs (off screen), prejudice, insecurity, fluff.

“I know your father said you were meant to be a queen,” Mycroft Holmes began, and Regina blotted her mouth before looking up at him.  His nose was rather defined, her husband’s, and his hair had an almost auburn sheen.  He wasn’t handsome.  Unlike most girls, Regina had never dreamed that her lord would be.

She inclined her head, setting her napkin down on her lap.  She was sitting in her white robes in a beautiful townhouse here in London.  Regina and her lord were celebrating their marriage with a quiet brunch.  Champagne flutes shimmered in the unneeded candlelight.  The idiot named Sherlock was fortunately nowhere to be seen.

Mycroft cleared his throat.  “The queen, when she chose me, bestowed me with the title of Earl Holmes.  As of a few short hours ago, you are Countess Holmes.”

Regina looked at him sharply.  “You mean—?”  Her voice was a little too hopeful.  She hated herself for it, but she couldn’t help it.

“The queen wanted you to have a title befitting your station, my dear.”

“How considerate of her.”  She hesitated.  “Does your brother know?”  She remembered his words at the wedding and the odd look the Muggle Prime Minister had given him.

“No,” Mycroft admitted, taking a sip of his champagne.  “I didn’t see the need to tell him.”

She nodded.  “Countess Holmes,” she tried on her tongue.

“Or Lady Holmes,” Mycroft supplied helpfully.  “I imagine that titles were a little different in the magical world.”

Regina smiled at him politely.  “They were.  This pleases me, my lord.”  She picked up her own glass of champagne and inclined it toward him.  “Lord Holmes.”

“Countess,” he agreed, and they took a sip together.  “Would you care to see your rooms, my dear?  That is, if you are finished.”

Nodding, she rose to her feet.  She dropped her napkin on her chair.  Regina knew all the Muggle niceties from her many years of being tutored by wealthy Muggleborns.

She allowed Mycroft to usher her to the upper floor and to a room in purples and whites with a large bed dominating it.  Regina walked to the wallpaper and saw that it was made of small diamond shapes.  The room was beautiful but had a masculine tint.  There was, however, a vanity and what appeared to be two large closets.

“I’m rather a romantic,” Mycroft admitted as she inspected the room.  One of the closets held nothing but women’s dresses.  All of them were exquisite and she recognized the labels from all the Muggle magazines she had been encouraged to read over the years.  “I believe a man and woman should share a room when they are married.”

Regina turned sharply toward him.  She wanted to say, But we hardly know each other, but the words fell from her lips.  He looked at her so seriously, and she began to understand what her mother had talked about the night before when she spoke of what happened when a man wanted a woman.

“If you wish I can sleep in the spare bedroom,” he stated matter-of-factly, but she remained silent.  She stayed still as he walked toward her.

Mind racing, she thought of the options.  She could send him away or she could bask in his warm embrace.  Regina saw the fire in his eyes and knew with a certainty that he knew her perhaps better than her own father did.  Mycroft’s cunning eyes missed nothing.

Mycroft was now standing in front of her.  Her chin was tilted up toward him and their breath mingled. 

“My lord?”

“Mycroft, please, at least within this room,” he begged and their eyes locked, green on blue.

“I don’t have a conception potion, Mycroft,” she explained quietly, looking away.  “I know I shouldn’t know about such things, but I know a man of your importance would want to plan exactly when—“

His soft lips touched hers and she breathed deeply through her nose.  Mycroft’s arms snaked around her and she slowly twined her arms around his neck.  Her gloved fingers splayed through his hair and she sighed.  The kiss deepened and despite herself, Regina moaned.

A moment later, the kiss was broken off and Mycroft was turning her away from him.  “Now, this dress.”

“Robes,” she corrected him, politely.  Regina kicked off her heels and began to take off her silk gloves. 

His hands feathered across her shoulders and then his fingers were undoing the clasps that kept the cape attached to her dress.  One side was off and then another.  The top of her gown was made of lace but Mycroft soon found the buttons and he went to work on them. 

Regina pulled her arms out of the sleeves and let the dress hang down at her waist.  Mycroft was turning her again and the silk of the skirt became entangled in her feet.  She fell against him but he was there to catch her.

“Beautiful,” he murmured.  “No pretentions here, Regina.  Your word.”

His eyes looked into hers deeply and she felt humbled by the sheer knowledge they held.  Carefully she nodded and within moments he was helping her step out of her dress and it pooled at her feet.  Mycroft was now divesting himself of his jacket and cravat and, hesitant on how passive she should be, Regina reached out with trembling hands and began to unbutton his waistcoat.  Mycroft reached for her fingers and carefully kissed them.  “We can stop,” he offered, “if you’re not ready or you’re frightened.”

Regina remembered an evening spent on Ophelia’s bed, where her sister told her how she was taught that day how a proper pureblood lady must always be passive.  Her lord must make love to her, must take control.  However, Mycroft was not a pureblood lord and Regina—she was Mother Magic’s chosen—surely this gave her license to some say in what happened.

She shook her head.  Looking him boldly in the eyes, Regina stated carefully, “No, this is right.”  And it was right.  He was her lord and it was their wedding day.  She would not be a true wife to him if she did not join with him.

When he lowered her down to the sheets, Regina looked up at him fearlessly, and those strange, knowing blue eyes gazed right back at her.

Mycroft made love to her throughout the afternoon and for awhile Regina tried to be silent, like she knew her sister had been taught a witch should be, but she soon gave up on it.  There were to be no pretentions between them, not here.  She would be cold, proper and polite, but here she was simply Regina—Reggie as he began to call her in his passion.  She liked the nickname.  It was something so—Muggle. 

As night began to fall, Regina lay in Mycroft’s arms, tired and spent.  His fingers were running through her long hair.  “How long have you been chosen?” he whispered, as if afraid to break the harmony between them.

“By Mother Magic?” she whispered back, closing her eyes in pain.  “As long as I can remember.”

“I know being the Queen’s representative for a matter of months has been a burden.  I can’t imagine what growing up with such duty would have been like.”

His hands continued to stroke her hair and Regina found it soothing.  “Thank you,” she murmured before silence fell over them again.  She didn’t know she had fallen asleep until she awoke the next morning, alone, in a room streaming with sunlight.


It was half past noon when Regina, bathed and dressed, made her way downstairs.  She wasn’t quite certain where the breakfast room was, but she found the kitchen.  There she found the cook—a kind lady named Mrs. Hughes—who was happy to make her hot chocolate and toast with blackberry jam.

The rest of the afternoon, Regina went exploring.  She came across the morning room which had a warm fire and, at the desk, stationary emblazed with her new initials.  RRH.  Regina Riddle Holmes.  Other pieces had “Countess Holmes” scrawled across them elegantly.  Immediately she sat down and began composing a letter to her sister Ophelia.  She described the wedding, told her about the house, explained how kind her husband had been so far.  Abruptly she stopped when she realized she didn’t have an owl.  She didn’t have any galleons either.  Or money.  Without money she couldn’t go to Gringotts and exchange pounds for galleons and then rent an owl to send her sister the letter.  Shocked, she stared at the letter.  Warily she finished it and then put it in an envelope. 

Where would she find money?

She began looking through the desk, but found nothing.  Regina got up to go look in the bedroom, when there was the sound of the bell ringing.  Pausing, she stood, uncertain what to do.  There weren’t any house elves in the Muggle world.  Who would open the door?  After the third ring, Regina squared her shoulders and went to the door herself.

“Thank goodness,” she greeted Sherlock.  “Perhaps you can tell me where the money is kept.”

Sherlock bounded into the house as if he owned it.  “If I knew where it were kept, trust me, I would have looted it long before now.”

Regina resisted the urge to slump her shoulders.  “I see.”

Sherlock, it turned out, was there simply to annoy her and eventually she offered him tea in the hopes of shutting him up.  He left half an hour before Mycroft arrived, which was eight in the evening. 

Sitting in the living room, Regina heard her husband—husband!—come in.  He soon found her, alone in the dark, and he turned on a light.  “I came home early, my dear, to see how you were getting on.”  His piercing eyes seemed to look through her again.

She sighed.  “I tried to send a letter to my sister, but I had no money.”

“It’s in your purse which is next to your vanity,” he explained as if it were simple.  “However there are stamps—“

“I have to send it to her by owl.  That means going to Diagon Alley and exchanging money to hire an owl,” she explained tiredly.  “I honestly shouldn’t know that much about the wizarding world, but Ophelia let it slip when we were younger.”

“Can you not keep your own owl?”  Mycroft looked at her deeply.  “And your mother disapproves of the marriage, I see, my dear.”

How could he possibly—?  Regina shook away the thought.  “I was never permitted, my lord.  I was not meant to live in the wizarding world.”

“Hmm,” Mycroft answered.  “I see you haven’t eaten.”

He hadn’t been in the kitchen.  How could he know that?  “I have not, my lord.”

Mycroft stood.  “I take it Sherlock was here.  He has to go back to Cambridge tomorrow to finish off his PhD. and he rather dislikes having nothing to do.”

“Why doesn’t he stay here?” she asked despite herself.  Really, the Holmes family was none of her business.

Mycroft smiled and offered her his hand.  “He didn’t want to disturb us newlyweds.  For once, I don’t mind that he was correct.”

That night Mycroft took her into his arms again, and she held his face as she kissed him.  Regina wondered at herself, how she could have let herself be seduced by her husband, and so quickly at that.

Since Mycroft was at work—doing whatever he did—Regina saw Sherlock off at the train station.  He was rather sweet and brought her flowers, saying that they would die but that was of little consequence at the moment.  He was rather baffling, especially when he said to her, “Anything to make Mycroft jealous,” before disappearing into the train.

She sent off her letter after that.  Regina had been careful to put up her hair, like a married lady should, and she couldn’t help but shiver under the stares that were given to her by almost everyone.  Not only was she famous for being Mother Magic’s chosen, but she was also the eldest daughter of Lord Slytherin and now was obviously dressed like a Muggle, signaling, more than ever, her place in the Muggle world.

Regina at first hadn’t meant to buy an owl, but after all that scrutiny, which after her sheltered life she was rather unused to, she determined it was the best way to keep in contact with Ophelia.  She named it Slytherin so she would always remember where she had come from.

The cook was rather put out by it, but Regina didn’t much care.  It was gone within half an hour anyway with her letter.

There wasn’t a response ‘til a month later.  By that point Regina had become annoyingly aware that Mycroft’s assistant was a beautiful woman who changed her name every time Regina saw her.  It was simply vexing and Regina had to do everything to hold back her Slytherin instincts to just maul the woman and make her so unattractive that Mycroft wouldn’t look twice at her.

Still, Mycroft took Regina to bed every night.  And every night Regina was surprised at how tender he was and how, afterward, he would shock her with some revelation about her life before their marriage that she had never told him.

Regina had also become friends with the older but still beautiful Lady Marlbury, whose husband, everyone knew, was having an affair with a younger movie star.  It didn’t really matter, because Lady Marlbury was doing the same, with a talented young woman named Scarlett.  Regina, of course, was not one to judge.

The owl came late one night when Mycroft was at the office working.  The letter was short and to the point.  Tomorrow. The White Witch.  Two o’clock.  Regina was to have tea with Augusta Twiddleton at three, but she could easily put her off.

Carefully, she went to the back of her closet and aired out one of her few sets of robes.  It was a dark blue with a high collar that would accentuate the elaborate hairstyle she had planned for the afternoon.  She laid it out on the chaise and when Mycroft came home, obviously tired, he stared at it for a full two seconds.  “Should I be jealous and ask if you are meeting another man?”

A tinkling laugh answered his question.  “The only other men I’ve met are your brother, my father, the Prime Minister, and my younger brothers who are not yet old enough to be called men.  The idea is simply preposterous.”

“Preposterous it may be, but you are entering the magical world without an escort.”

“I am meeting my sister,” she informed him lightly.  She was wearing a silk negligee and she could see Mycroft’s eyes roam across it approvingly.  A thought struck her.  “Are you going to forbid it?”  The chill in her voice was unmistakable.  Regina was daring him to do just that.  Her father certainly would have, but would Mycroft prove her parents right and keep her from her heritage?

“I love you too much,” he confessed, taking a seat, “though I wish you would take someone with you.”

“You love—“

He smiled kindly at her.  “Surely you have known, my dear.  It’s been almost as obvious as the fact that you are in love with me.”

“I—“ And then her memories came flooding back.  That first night, the silent shared comraderie in the living room when he got home early enough before she retired in the evening, her gratitude over the fact that he did not raise a hand to her, even when she was coldly polite toward him in front of strangers.  “I didn’t know—“

“Forgive me for not telling you sooner,” he came forward and kissed her gently.  “However, forgive a simple Muggle for being afraid of losing your love if he spoke of it too soon.”

Regina swallowed the lump in her throat.  “I took the unsorcery potion, Mycroft.  I wanted our children to live in our world.”  The potion was a dark one and difficult to come by, but Regina had managed it.  It would ensure that all of her offspring were squibs.  “I didn’t want either of us to be left behind.”

“Countess Holmes,” Mycroft stated, kissing her gently.  “You surprise me every day.”

Fin.

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