Closing up at night at the shop bothered Peter more than he could say. He liked to walk home, on occasion, and tonight had seemed like a nice enough night to do so, but now he was wishing that he hadn't.
Peter stopped in his tracks as he stared up at the sky in abject horror; his owl treats from the shop crashed to the ground, and his other hand flew to his wand. His mouth fell open, but Peter didn't even remember feeling it fall. He took a few steps back before Disapparating - a walk on a nice night wasn't worth it. As he closed the door to his flat shut, his heart pounded, and he immediately tried to force the memory out of his head, only to find that he couldn't, wouldn't.
It was like the Dark Mark had consumed him, body and soul.
He just wasn't so sure that it had been fear, after all.