Ward 10
In the first moments of waking, Harry found himself floating comfortably in something warm and viscous enough to hold his weight. It was rather nice, and he was tired enough that he would have liked to drift back into well-earned sleep. But it was wrong, wasn’t it; he’d gone to sleep in his old bed in Gryffindor tower, so –
He gasped and thrashed widly as he tried to sit up. Was he in a coffin? Some of the liquid splashed into his mouth and he coughed in instinctive revulsion as he lashed out with his hands. What now? One day, that was all he wanted, one single day where nothing horrible or dangerous or insane happened. Too much to ask, apparently.
The thing he was trapped in gave way under his hands and he sat up, gasping and choking, as the lid of the coffin fell away. Heart pounding with panic, he reached blindly for his wand, but it wasn’t there, and neither were the clothes he’d fallen asleep in – what the hell was he wearing? What the hell is going on?