Ron went into Peter's room, laid down and tried to sleep, to no avail. Thoughts were rushing in and out of his head, where was he, what was going to happen? He thought of the Death Eaters, and felt stangely proud. At least the Death Eaters were something he could deal with. At least there was something about this world that was akin to his own. He leant against the wall he was sleeping near, and stared at the ceiling, wondering what would happen tomorrow. He was certain that not all of them would survive if there were mythological creatures and worshippers of Voldemort there, but they had to fight them off as best they could.