Peter reveled in death and destruction. Around him bodies of Muggles were strewn apart, entrails and brain matter splattered on the ground. His face was covered with the blood he'd licked from his enemies bodies, and his own blood was pumping with adrenaline. He felt they weren't given enough opportunity to kill and maim, he'd do it everyday but his Masters required some form of restraint. He laughed as yet another Muggle cowered and screamed before him, no more than a child.
It was the children he loved best, their fear was a sweet as a god's nectar to him. He raised his wand and sent a blinding curse to the boy, relishing in the child's whimper. He followed quickly with a hex that would make it seem as if spiders were crawling all over the body, and stood back, admiring the way the boy squirmed and cried, bloody tears leaking from his eyes.
He was so engrossed in drinking in the pain his victim was giving off, that the first hex took him by surprise.