So, here it is, my first attempt at a Harry/Barghest story, as a crossover between the Potterverse and the Nasuverse. Hopefully, you'll enjoy it. That being said, be warned, there's major spoilers for the British Lostbelt.

Also, the title, FYI, is a reference to Samson's riddle to the Philistines, the exact wording actually coming from the packaging of the Tate & Lyle's Golden Syrup tins. I think the phrase actually suits Barghest's character well.

OUT OF THE STRONG CAME FORTH SWEETNESS

CHAPTER 1:

BERSERKER

The sound of metal clanging against metal roused him from his slumber. He opened his eyes, and beheld his lover, adjusting her armour. True, it was magical armour that she could summon and dismiss at will, and in theory, would fit her perfectly, but in practise, she found she always needed to make adjustments.

"Madainn mhath," he said softly, though he knew her hearing, sensitive though it was, would pick it up.

She looked at him with slightly mismatched eyes, one icy blue, the other more or less the same colour, but with a crimson tinge. But there was no mistaking the warmth in her smile, though it was tinged by sadness. "Madainn mhath, leannan ghrinn. Are you well?"

"As well as I can be. I rested well after last night. Did you?" he asked with a cheeky grin.

At this, she blushed. It was quite adorable, really. One of the feared knights of their queen, the tyrant of Britain, blushing like a smitten teenager. "I…uhh…indeed I did. Unfortunately, there is no time for rest, at least for me. I was brought an urgent message this morning, orders from Her Majesty. There is a Mors outbreak at Repton, a bad one. Things have not escalated to the point where Lancelot is needed, but the local Fang Clan garrison is not enough, apparently. Not only that, but tensions are rising, as the time is nearly upon us not only for the Child of Prophecy, but for the Foreign Magus Her Majesty's consort keeps speaking of." His lover's lips twisted into a snarl of contempt, like a dog at bay. "I cannot find any reason that Her Majesty enjoys his company. True, he has wit and a superficial charm, but he has a poisonous heart and soul. I am a monster, a killer, but crushing the enemy is a duty, not a pleasure as he or Tristain indulge in."

"Not that you can bring that up with Her Majesty," he said.

"No. Still, killing Mors is the one thing I do take pleasure in. Fighting them is a welcome challenge, and it keeps the people of this land safe, human or Fae. I will be gone for at least a day if not two. I beg you, please, take it easy, leannan ghrinn." She came over to him, and cradled his head in her massive gauntleted hands, concern showing in her eyes. "You've made great strides in getting healthier and stronger, as last night showed, but…"

"You don't need to worry, Ghesty," he said. "I'm not exactly going to try and match Redra Bit anytime soon. Actually, I intend to study those tomes Her Majesty sent over. Maybe in one of them, I can find a…"

"Don't. Don't say it," she said, her voice a harsh hiss, not of anger, but sorrow. "Don't give me false hope, leannan ghrinn. This curse is an integral part of my being, and Her Majesty could only suppress it by bestowing me the name of a Knight of the Round Table. Do not misunderstand me, if you find a cure, and it works, then I will be elated. It means I am free from the curse, if nothing else, and perhaps one of the Calamities of Britain has been stopped forevermore. In truth, I hope it is because I chose you, a boy weak of body, to love, initially as family, that my curse will be averted. But even that may prove false. And I do not know if I could stand to wake up, covered in your blood, and your flesh in my gullet."

"I know. And don't get me wrong, Ghesty, I'm afraid of that happening. Any sane person would. But I'm just as afraid of what that would do to you, if not more so. I know it would utterly destroy you, Ghesty. You raised me as my guardian, and yet, we came to love each other as more than kin. Despite what you do under Her Majesty…you have a good heart, better than probably any other Fae in the whole of Britain."

"…I am a monster, leannan ghrinn. I do not have a good heart. In my four centuries of service to Her Majesty, my hands have become irrevocably stained with blood, even without my curse. But you…your heart is as strong as my body. And of the many kinds of strength, that is the most admirable." She gave him a sad smile, before pressing her lips to his own, a farewell from a knight to their beloved. "I will be back ere long, Adonis."

"I know, Barghest…"

His awakening brought with it pain. Not quite all-pervasive agony, but rather, an ache of fatigue. He felt like he had run a marathon, and while he had experience running away from Dudley and his cronies, he wasn't sure he ever felt so utterly exhausted.

Still, when he opened his eyes, his eyesight was blurred, thanks to his lack of glasses. He saw a vague outline of an elderly bearded man, and murmured, albeit hoarsely, "Dumbledore?"

"I'm afraid not," the old man said, his voice a deep rumble, but a vital and strong one, as well as gentle and kind. "Albus and I are old friends. Rest assured, you are safe. We know of what happened in the graveyard at Little Hangleton, and Albus is just outside, speaking with the one who saved you there. Here, your glasses."

He put on his glasses, and saw that, indeed, this man was not Dumbledore, if the voice wasn't enough of a clue. True, he looked old, ancient even, was bearded, and dressed in robes. But the man's beard was short, with no moustache, his eyes were crimson, and his body was burly and muscular beneath his robes. Yet his expression was gentle and kind.

"Allow me to introduce myself," the elderly man said. "My name is Kischur Zelretch Schweinorg, known to most who know of me as Zelretch. I am the Wizard Marshall of the Magus Association, not that such terms mean much to you. And you are Harry Potter, of course."

Harry nodded, albeit uncertainly. He'd only heard of Magi, Clock Tower, and the differences they had with wizards thanks to Hermione. It felt like pieces of his life were missing. Hazy, like half-remembered dreams. And yet, he had all of his memories, or at least as many as he had prior to the battle in that graveyard…not that you could call it that. It was an ambush, plain and simple. Cedric was now dead, and Voldemort was revived, before boasting of his plan to Harry.

"…What happened?" Harry asked, trying not to think about that. The past year and the Tri-Wizard Tournament wasn't filled with the happiest of memories. "I don't remember much of what happened, only…"

"After you returned to Hogwarts with Mr Diggory's body in tow, you fell unconscious," Zelretch said. "Considering what had happened, I am hardly surprised. Mad-Eye Moody volunteered to take you to the Hospital Wing, except your saviour followed, and then attacked him. As it happened, Moody was an impostor. He was Barty Crouch Junior. Your saviour subdued him and brought you both to the Hospital Wing. Albus contacted me, as I have considerable knowledge of such things."

Harry shook his head. "What Voldemort said…it sounded insane. He said he was going to participate in some tournament, bigger than the Tri-Wizard Tournament, in Japan. The prize was any wish he would desire. He was going to summon a hero from history or myth or something, as a familiar, though I can't see any hero working willingly with him."

"True, but it's still a possibility for Heroic Spirits to be compatible with him, depending on the one summoned as a Servant, or else he would enslave them with the Command Seals he would have been granted if he succeeded. Believe me, as one of those responsible for creating the Holy Grail War, I know more than the average Magus does."

Harry blinked at him in shock. "You…founded the Holy Grail War?"

"Back in the early 1800s, actually. And yes, I am particularly long-lived, though that is beside the point. In any case, Voldemort miscalculated, and badly. Firstly, for drawing his ritual circle, he decided to use the blood of a Barghest, a particularly potent magical reagent, albeit an extremely unstable one. Secondly, he had you overly close to the ritual circle, as he intended to sacrifice you to his Servant to boost their power. That was the biggest miscalculation he made. The Servant was not bound to him, but to you."

"…What," Harry said flatly. "I have…a hero from history or myth or something…and they're my familiar?"

"Exactly. I would say congratulations are in order, but…I have been watching enough of your life from afar to know that it hasn't exactly been a walk in the park. But back to the Servant. When you got back to Hogwarts, you were in a severe state of magical exhaustion, exacerbated by Voldemort subjecting you to the Cruciatus, along with…well, another factor we will get to soon. Part of the reason for that is that your Servant was a Berserker."

"Berserker?" Harry asked, dreading what that meant.

"Heroic Spirits, when summoned as Servants, are assigned a class that best suits the aspect of their being that reflects either a catalyst used to summon them, or else their compatibility with their summoner, their Master," Zelretch said. "There are seven standard classes, as well as a number of Extra Classes, but I will describe only the seven standard ones. The three Knight Classes include Sabers, who wield swords and the like, Archers, who are masters of ranged weaponry of all kinds, and Lancers, agile wielders of spears and polearms. Then, you have the four Cavalry Classes. Riders are known for their mounts or vehicles. Casters are famed magic users of yore. Assassins strike from the shadows, often targeting Masters. And Berserkers…they trade their sanity for power."

As Harry stilled, wondering how the hell he summoned something like that, Zelretch held up a hand. "I should point out that Berserker, despite her class and high rank of Madness Enhancement, is nonetheless a most courteous, gallant and gentle young woman, and is quite lucid and intelligent despite her class. In fact, while her class consumes a lot more mana than most other Servants, thus causing your magical exhaustion, she was horrified to learn what she had inadvertently done to you when she protected you from Voldemort and his cronies."

"…How did she protect me from them?" Harry asked quietly.

"By slaying them. Harry, the Death Eaters would have applauded your death if Voldemort had succeeded in summoning a Servant," Zelretch said solemnly. "They were a bunch of unrepentantly racist killers who are on a par with many bad Magi. Albus believes in second chances and redemption, but they blew it the moment they returned to Voldemort's side. In any case, when Albus spoke with Berserker, he contacted me as soon as possible. I was tending to you when that fool calling himself the Minister of Magic arrived…with a Dementor in tow. The Dementor gave Barty Crouch Junior the Kiss…and nearly gave you one, if it weren't for Berserker saving you. However, Fudge demanded your arrest for, in his words, slaying upstanding Purebloods. So, I brought you here to the Magus Association, in London. You are under my protection, Harry, and believe me, it would be a fool of a wizard or a Magus to try and gainsay me."

"…Why is that?" Harry asked, trying not to think about the fact that Fudge wanted him arrested.

"I am extremely old, immensely powerful, and honestly, the main reason I did not get involved when Voldemort was on the rise last time was that wizards and Magi have an intense mutual loathing, though if Albus asked, I was willing to help. Wizards consider Magi to be amoral monsters at best, and to be fair, too many Magi are exactly that. I delight in breaking such fools if they ever become my apprentices. But too many wizards are indolent fools who shirk innovation and technology even more than Magi do, and whose discrimination against newer bloodlines is not based in their magic system. But enough of that. Before we have you meet Berserker properly…we need to speak about your memories."

"…My what?"

"Harry…are you aware of the concept of reincarnation?" On Harry's tentative nod, Zelretch continued. "It does happen in reality. The minds and souls of the living return to the Swirl of the Root, Akasha, the repository of all knowledge and information in the world, before eventually being reborn. Akasha also reaches out between realities of all kinds, parallel timelines, which is a specialty of my True Magic, Kaleidoscope. Now, I'm sure you are finding this hard to grasp, so let me put it in simple terms. When you fell unconscious, it was because the memories of a prior life had emerged. You had already been glimpsing them in your dreams for the past couple of years, given what Albus told me, the Dementors unearthing what was already there. Berserker's summoning was the last straw. However, the merger of two lives' memories is not a trivial thing. You very nearly suffered brain damage. When I saw this, I had to carefully apply memory spells to cover up the new memories, at least until they were properly integrated with your psyche. Now, whether I remove those spells is up to you. You can function well enough as just Harry Potter, and while you may see memories of that past life, it will be only in small fragments, usually in your dreams, as you have been doing."

"…But if I ask you to remove those spells?" Harry asked. He wasn't sure if he trusted this man. True, he claimed to be on speaking terms with Dumbledore…and yet, Dumbledore trusted Snape. Snape of all people.

"The integration has already taken place. You won't become another person, as, for all intents and purposes, you, as Harry Potter, shared the same qualities as your past life. In that past life, you were a ward of a noble in a Britain ruled by the Fae in an alternate timeline known as a Lostbelt. You eventually became the noble's lover, until you met…well, a rather tragic end. If I remove the memory spells, you will remember your demise in that life. I promise you, Harry, these memories are real. You've been experiencing it ever since your first exposure to the Dementors, according to Albus. But the choice is yours whether to accept them, or to let them remain in the shadows. In truth, and I say this with all due sincerity and gravitas, your memories are not quite the most serious thing about this whole debacle."

Harry looked at Zelretch for a time, debating with himself whether to do this or not. Eventually, he said, "Can I ask Dumbledore about this, please? I want to hear it from his lips, not yours."

"Of course. Albus has made more than a few questionable decisions over the years, many involving you, but…in the end, he's a good man. Just a badly flawed one." Zelretch opened the door, and spoke outside. "Harry wishes to see you, Albus. Berserker, please come in as well, but Astralized, at least for now."

"Understood," came a deep, but strangely familiar feminine voice.

In any case, Dumbledore came in, looking harried and worried. "Harry…my boy…I'm so sorry."

"…Professor…is it true? Is Zelretch trustworthy?" Harry asked, cutting across the old man's apologies. "And should I accept these memories?"

"…Harry…whether you accept them or not, it is entirely up to you," the elderly wizard said solemnly and sadly. "However, Zelretch is one of the few people I would trust with my life. He is older and more powerful than I am…and certainly wiser."

Harry subsided into silence at that, contemplating it. In truth, he knew the answer, even if only subconsciously. Ever since he got those strange dreams and nightmares, he'd been curious about them, flashes of a life seemingly out of a fantasy novel…albeit a darker sort. Indeed, one of them was a nightmare, where he was devoured by…well, something that made the Grim Sirius seemed to be pale by comparison.

And yet, his curiosity won out over his fear and wariness. He'd been Sorted into Gryffindor, after all. And something about those dreams called to him.

So he looked to Zelretch and nodded. "Very well," Zelretch said solemnly. "I will begin."

When it happened, it felt like a curtain was being drawn back, illuminating parts of a room that had remained hidden in shadow. It was disconcerting, and more than a little weird, and yet, the memories were not dissonant with his own. If anything, it was like coming home.

And by the end of it, he remembered what he used to be. In an alternate Britain where the Fae ruled, dominated by Queen Morgan le Fay, he was a human, originally adopted as the ward of a Fae noble, one of the few who, despite her brutality in battle, was kindhearted in private. They had grown closer after he reached adulthood, even becoming lovers…until one day…

…Her curse emerged once more.

He may still think of himself as Harry Potter, but once, he was called Adonis. And now, he was fairly certain he knew who Berserker was. He could sense her, through their link, waiting in the corner of the bedroom. And despite what she did to him in the end, devouring him, he didn't truly blame her. He knew what she must be thinking, that he would reject her. And while the trauma would be there, so too would the good memories.

So, he asked, "Berserker? Please show yourself."

And so, she did.

The woman who appeared seemed to embody the adjective Amazonian. Well over six feet tall, broad-shouldered, she was clad in armour, towering over everyone present. And yet, her face was a regal, elegant beauty, haughty and yet gentle, framed by long flowing locks of golden hair. Both her eyes were pale blue, though her right eye (her right) had a tinge of crimson to it. She seemed to be wearing a tiara, but he knew all too well they were horns.

Her expression was impassive, at least at first blush, but he knew she was anxious, even as she strode over, her armour clanking noisily as she did so, her steps even shaking the room slightly, not from weight, but from her very presence. She halted near the bed, before kneeling, and looking him in the eye. "Servant Berserker has answered your summoning. I ask of you…are you my Master?"

Her tone was hopeful, albeit hidden under stoicism. Harry knew she was also guilt-ridden about what she did to him in his past life. Hell, some part of him recoiled from her, reminded of what had happened.

But after a moment, Harry allowed a bit of Adonis to shine forth, and said, in the language of their world, "Of course, not, Ghesty. Why the hell would I have you, of all people, call me Master?"

Her eyes widened in surprise, before they began moistening. She took his hand, and pressed it to his face, as if trying to assure herself that he was real, that he didn't hate her. But he couldn't. He hated the curse that drove her to devour Adonis…but he couldn't hate her. He never would…

CHAPTER 1 ANNOTATIONS:

So, Harry is the reincarnation of Adonis, aka Barghest's final lover. Well, this ought to be interesting, in the cursed sense of the word.

Now, I haven't read the From Lostbelt comic about Barghest and Adonis, and I don't know how much insight that gives into Adonis' past, so I'm going off what was stated in Fate/Grand Order, and extrapolating from that, albeit with additions from whatever the TYPE Moon wiki has from the comic. Given that Adonis is explicitly stated to be her lover, and yet was a 'boy' when she found him, I actually wanted to try and explain that in a way that isn't squicky, or at least the squick is minimised.

I actually decided that Adonis, like Spriggan, was a human who ended up in the Lostbelt by accident, and was perhaps in his mid-teens. Already sickly, he was crippled by a rather cruel Fae, and left to die. Barghest found him, and nursed him back to health, as much as she could, though he remained unable to walk much (I view him as needing a cane to walk, and being weak enough to be in bed most of the time). Desperate to avoid her curse forcing her to devour her lovers, she devoted herself to become his guardian. As the years went on, Adonis fell in love with Barghest, but waited until he was an adult to confess to her, despite knowing of her curse. She was reluctant to accept at first, partly because she was his guardian and partly because of her curse, but eventually, she reciprocated.

Unfortunately, it ended in tears, but anyone who's played the Lostbelt knows this already. Poor Barghest.

Also, this is the first fanfic where Zelretch is not a vampire, just immortal. I only learned this recently, admittedly, that outside of Tsukihime timelines, Zelretch is not a vampire. He's still an unrepentant troll, that won't change in my portrayals of him, but he's obviously not going to troll a traumatised teenager. He's a gadfly, not truly cruel.

It's worth pointing out that, after some consideration, I decided to make the dialect of the Fae Britain Lostbelt Gaelic. I chose Scottish Gaelic for the opening scene as Barghest's home is in Manchester, and given the location, I thought Scottish Gaelic was more likely than Irish Gaelic or Welsh, which are both Celtic languages. Yes, I know that the Lostbelt didn't have human languages, but considering the influences from Proper Human History, well, why not?

No numbered annotations this time.