Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Spider-Man.

Prologue:

Five-year-old Peter Parker's mom tucked him up in his bed and kissed him on the forehead. They had just said their goodnights, but he still asked her anyway.

"Can Dad tell me one of his joke stories tonight?"

"I'm sorry, but your dad is very busy right now." She pursed her lips in regret. "I can read you a book, if you'd like?"

"Okay," Peter said, though he couldn't help but feel disappointed.

He tried his best not to show it, but his mom knew him too well not to notice. She ruffled his hair and walked over to the bookshelf containing many of his children's books. Looking for something good, she tapped each one animatedly, making Peter laugh merrily at her theatrics.

She finally stopped her finger on one book and deftly slid it out. She spun around on her feet to face Peter, holding her choice out in front of her like a prize, grinning. Tadaa!

The Giving Tree.

He smiled. It wasn't a funny story, but it was still one of his favourites. He closed his eyes and laid his head down comfortably on his pillow as his mother sat on a chair beside his bed. She began reading.

"Once there was a tree, and she loved a little boy..."

It didn't take long before he fell asleep with her sweet words in his ears.

Her soft voice faltered and was replaced by a deeper one. He felt confused, but the jovial tone was warm and made him feel safe.

"Mich... An...gelo!"

"Oh, Peter…" came an old, matronly voice.

A beautiful face caught Peter's eyes. He raised his camera to take a picture of her, but before he was able to do so, intense pain coursed through his body. So much pain, in fact, that he thought he was going to wake up. But he didn't, couldn't.

"You'll pay for that, Park...er…" said a different voice, followed by many more.

"I don't want to fight you, Flash."

"I wouldn't want to fight me eith…"

"With great power… responsibility…"

BANG!

"No…" Peter cried as he hugged an old man's body. "Unc… B..."

Everything was happening too quickly. Limbs and strings tangled up in chaos. He heard the sound of bones cracking, guns shooting, and men screaming. It was too much for him.

Suddenly, he was at peace. The wind blew against his face, and his stomach dropped in such a way that felt so familiar to him. He was at home.

Aunt May. Oh, God, please not Aunt May.

Then everything went black.

All Peter remembered when he woke up was a long yet dreamless sleep.

...

BANG! BANG! BANG!

"Peter!" came his mom's voice. She sounded so distressed. "What have you done to my boy?"

"You bastard—!" His dad's cry was cut short by a hiss and a slashing sound, followed by a loud thump.

He opened his eyes and saw that he was in a different room, on a different bed. There was a different woman sitting on a different chair beside him. He first noticed her elegant gown, but as he trailed his eyes upward, he saw that she had a slim face with ice blue eyes. Her long blonde hair fell along her sides as she looked down on him. She raised an eyebrow when she realised he's awake.

"What's your name, boy?" she asked in a clear, cold voice.

Peter immediately tried to sit up, but he more like jumped out of bed. His muscles never felt so strong. He looked around the large white room decorated with silver and green furniture. He looked down at himself and saw the body of a five-year-old. What the fuck? Why was he so small? Why shouldn't he be? Since when did he start using the F-word?

"What?" was all that came out of his mouth.

"I asked you what your name is," she repeated. She spoke so differently that he could barely understand her.

"Uh, P—Peter."

"Well, Peter, I'm your mother now."

A/N: I'd like to thank Snappedsnale for some helpful suggestions on this prologue.