The timeline is kinda gonna get screwed sideways here, so just bear with me. This Spider-Man is the MCU version, but 1 year younger to match the timeline. That fact alone isn't the only reason and his young age corresponding with the 'Civil War' will play a big part later. The Harry Potter universe will change entirely to match the time, but that's not a very big deal other than small gags. A lot of stories with MCU Spidey have had Tony very involved, but this is gonna be a more self-reliant Peter, a hero growing into who he is with out relying on Iron Man to save him at every sign of trouble. Hope you enjoy!

"So, um, H-Happy? I-is Mr. Stark ok? I-I-I mean, is he gonna be alright?"

Happy looked at him with a stone-cold stare, his face not giving away any emotion whatsoever, his lips drawn together tightly. He finally looked away, "New York is another 10 hours away. Get some sleep kid." He slipped out of his seat and moved towards the head of the plane, leaving Peter to the stuffy silence of the cabin of the private jet. He just sat there, head moving all around like a gyro sphere on his shoulders. His senses slowly began to attack his brain; his fingers began jumping as his unease grew, it was harder and harder for him to swallow, and the air felt extremely stuffy. Worst of all, his head began to ache, an almost droning buzz took hold just at the crown of his head. He didn't know why, and he severely hoped he was wrong, but he felt as if an unstoppable chain of events will take place that will change everything he knows.

A voice, most definitely Mr. Stark, was speaking to someone. He didn't know if it was Happy, or somebody through the Starkphone. Cursing rang through the plane, something that really startled Peter out of his seat. He sprinted to the door, not making a noise, and pressed his ear onto the door, barely breathing as to not make a noise.

"Happy, I gotta make a stop in the UK. Got a tip that people have seen some strange, presumable enhanced activities all over the UK. Apparently, it's been like that for years, but things have escalated more and more in the last two years. Ross is raging at my ass to check it out. Give the kid's aunt a call, say the retreat will be extended for…let's give it a week. I'll go explain it to onesie. Where is he again?"

"One room over." Peter scrambled up and jumped across half the room and landed in his seat just as the door swung open. Tony strolled down the aisleway, tie loose and coat flowing freely. A carefree smirk adorned his face, but from the smell of alcohol wafting from his breath, he knew that whatever happened between the fight at the airport and Tony picking him up to return to Queens had really hurt him.

"Oh, h-hey Mr. Stark. What's up? I'm not doing anything really. Just enjoying the flight, ya'know. Hahaha. Haha." He rubbed his neck and tried to appear as comfortable as he could, which probably looked like he took way more of a beating in Leipzig than he let on.

"So, as you heard, we gotta make a stop in England. You're gonna stay in your hotel room this time and listen to what Happy says. Understood? Homework's not gonna be too bad?" Tony responded with a playful smile, a real, genuine smile.

"N-no, I'll be ok Mr. Stark." He smiled back, feeling more relaxed than before, his mind beginning to settle.

"Well I'll leave you to it then. ETA is a few hours. Get some rest kid." Tony patted Peter's knee and stood up to leave but turned back. "You did a good job out there." And he was gone, once again leaving Peter to his own thoughts.

This time, his eyes began to grow heavy. It grew more difficult to keep his eyes open and before he knew it, he was long asleep.

His eyes cracked open only a few minutes before they touched down in London, his eyes were crusty, and his lips were dry and cracked. For a couple minutes Peter was groggy and forgot where he was, but then his eyes shot open, like an adrenalin rush. He looked around, not seeing anybody in his room on the plane; there were only a few small lights in the cabin and there was a dark purple splattered across the British sky. He was jostled by the landing gear hitting the ground.

"Huh? What? We're there already? Geez, this thing moves fast."

"Well," Peter literally jumped out of his seat and nearly banged his head on the ceiling. "That's good news. I designed it to go fast, so…success!" There Tony stood, suit crisp and straight, his tie done, and jacket buttoned, a far cry from the Tony Stark who spoke with him earlier. "C'mon, get your stuff kid. I'm sure your tired and so is Happy, so let's not waste any time and get you checked in to your hotel room."

"What time is it Mr. Stark?"

"About 11:30. Why? Past your bedtime?" Peter gave a small smile at that and just shook his head while reaching to the overhead compartment to get both his suit case and his suit's case. "I have to jet out pretty soon, so you'll drive there with Happy. I'll see you when…you know what, I'll just call you." And he was gone, as if he were never there to begin with. Peter just sighed, trudging along with the cases in each hand. He looked out to see Iron Man, flying off who knows where, for however long he'll be gone. Suddenly, the realism of the whole situation set in, the original giddiness fading away with the continuous sting of his black eye. He, a fourteen-year-old, had just fought alongside the Avengers against the Avengers, well ex-Avengers. Even as he slipped the cases in the trunk of the limo and drove through the city of London for the first time ever, his mind never left the Battle at the Airport.

Even hours later sitting in the hotel room, he was still thinking about him. It broke his heart, thinking of the fact that he had fought the people, who were his idols, and put them in prison like any common criminal he beat up in the alleys of New York. It was beginning to build up and fester, once again his limbs began to erratically jerk on their own. He began to walk all over the walls and the ceiling, then began leaping and bounding around the room before, in a fit of rebellion, throwing on his new Starktech Spider-suit and leaping out of the window.

He just spread his arms and staying free falling before shooting a web and catching himself without a second thought. He swung around the insanely huge city, just enjoying the mix of the cool wind freezing his bones and the adrenalin boiling his blood. Since the bite, and possibly before, he's never truly felt free anywhere on the ground, but always blissful in the skies. He landed in a crouched position on the ledge of a large tower, a probably goofy smile adorning his face and a small laugh escaped the confines of his throat. He just sat there for what was at least half an hour, this time not feeling cramped or stuffy. He hopped up onto his feet and leapt off, planning to return to the hotel, thoroughly satisfied. He was about to attach a line heading east when the wailing of a siren cut through the peaceful night like a blade. He quickly compensated for the new trajectory and landed on an apartment complex. His fists clenched as his head flipped back and forth between the direction of the sirens and the direction of the hotel. Mr. Stark told him to stay at the hotel and lay low. He knew that if he didn't go to try and help somebody could get hurt or worse. He knew that Mr. Stark would disapprove of his disobedience, but at the same time, he constantly reminded himself why he puts on the mask in the first place.

It was Tony Stark vs. Ben Parker.

"I'm sorry Mr. Stark, but I made a promise. A promise that I wouldn't even break for the Avengers."

He then leapt off, seeing a firetruck tearing through the streets of London. A fire then? He could deal with that. He silently landed on the firetruck and cracked his knuckles as he waited to arrive.

That fire was raging way more then he figured, but it all evened out considering it was a small business building. He really hoped that only a few workaholics were there this early in the morning, which would really make his job easier. He jumped off the truck, the biggest jump he could and swung around to the side of the building where he slipped through the window on the bottom floor. He immediately sprinted throughout the entire building, from the first floor up, screaming for anybody who may be trapped. He made sure to check every room, sweat clumping up his suit and his lungs burned from the smoke inhalation. Every floor that he moved up, his sight continued to shrink, clouding up, and the tingling that rested in the back of his head was cracking his head open like an egg. He reached the top floor, still screaming for anyone to hear him.

"Please. Please! Help me!" A voice called out from the end of the room. Peter pumped his legs as hard as he could, recognizing the plague announcing that boss's office where the cry for help originated from.

In the office, the rubble was piled up to an alarming amount. The desk was collapsed and there was a large pillar haphazardly topple near it. The continued cry of help came from under the pillar, which quickly spurred Peter into action. He jumped over the pillar and found the crying and wailing woman trapped under it, her legs trapped while she tries to push it off her, without any success. She noticed Peter, but instead of calming down, she began to wail even louder, thinking he was some psychopath.

"Don't worry. Please, please trust me! I'm here to help you!" It doesn't really help at all, but he crouches down to lift the pillar off. He tapped into his strength and slowly pulls it off her, careful not to just lift it off in the case of any broken bones. Once he was sure that the pillar was removed, he simply tossed it to the side. The lady looked up at him, tears smearing her face and creating splotches of ash residue on her face. Her hair was a complete mess, without any chance of being fixed anytime soon. Her glassy eyes stared up at him like he was great providence, an angel sent to be her savior.

"Can you move your legs enough to walk?" She looked down and tentatively moved her legs, but suddenly cried out in pain at the very slightest movement. He slid down to her in alarm and put a stabilizing hand on her back. "Hey, don't worry, I'll get you out of here. Just breathe. I'm sorry, this part's gonna hurt, but you gotta be strong for me, alright?" She frantically nodded her head and bit her lip in preparation. He mentally counted in his head to three and slowly lifted her up, her once again screaming in pain. He rose to his feet, feeling his bodily functions begin to shut down from the smoke. He rushed out, but paled as he saw the fire had reached the top floor and was roaring everywhere around him. He ran about, trying to find any opening in the fire, but found none. The woman in his arms seemed to have noticed it too, as she had begun to cry a river into his shoulder. He felt like he was about to cry too, thinking that he was soon to die, not in New York, but in some building in London. He held strong though, if not for himself, then for the lady, but he starts breathing heavily. He wanted to get out. Oh god, he wanted to breathe fresh air again.

He wanted to live. He WILL live!

A sudden gap broke into the fire, parting it completely by several feet. By instinct alone, he sprinted at the opening and not wanting to question his sudden stroke of luck, he continued his path and jumped at the wide window, shattering it before quickly spinning some webs to catch them, holding her with his other arm. He landed, his legs not buckling though he really wanted to. The police and firemen were staring with wide eyes and open mouths.

"Somebody get her some help! C'mon!" Everyone spurned into action as paramedics brought a stretcher and took the woman away from him. He turned to the officers surrounding him, many who had their weapons at the ready. "I snaked through all the floors and I'm pretty sure nobody else is in there." He turned and jumped on the wall of a building across the street.

"Wait!" A random paramedic called up to him and he hung off the side of the wall to look at him. "Why? Why did you risk your life to help?"

He looked down and remembered putting pressure over the bleeding out bullet wound, salty, burning tears streaking down his face. "It's my job. My responsibility." He climbed up the rest of the way and ran across several roofs before finally collapsing near an air conditioning unit. He scratched over the mask, struggling to tear it from his face. When it finally came off giving room for him to breathe, he just sat there, watching small, almost unnoticeable pink splotches on the horizon.

"So that's what I felt." Peter freaked out, frustrated at another conflict that extended his already long and painful night. Tugging on his dirty mask once again, he faced the potential threat only to see, to his surprise, an incredibly old looking man with dark, thick robes. His hair was long past greyed, nearly white, and his eyes were twinkling at the sight of the frantic boy. His hair was long and shockingly well kept, but his beard was frizzy and just as long and thick as his hair. He didn't look threatening, but he wasn't about to let his guard down just because being around the guy kinda calmed him down. "Yes, you are the one I have been looking for; the one who will lead him to his destiny, while you will fulfill yours." Now he was alarmed again. What the hell was this stuff about destiny?

"What are you talking about? Never mind, I don't wanna know. Whatever you want, you're gonna have to find it somewhere else buddy because I'm not- "

"Please, just take a breath, my boy." He smiled lightly, leaving Peter to calm down. He berated himself in his head for losing his composure. "Hello, my name is Albus Wulfric Percival Brian Dumbledore. We have a lot to talk about, Peter Benjamin Parker."