Another minute or so and Harry finally opened an eye, giving the expanse of person he was faced with a critical and somewhat wary look. It was Tim. In his(?) bed. With very few clothes on, if his nerves could be trusted, and given the fog still clogging up his brain cells he could probably trust them to be telling the full truth in painful, excruciatingly exact and boring vanilla-and-oatmeal detail, so long as they bothered to translate the signals.
"You're really there." It was framed as a question, the question mark hovering at the end despite any similarities with a statement it might have had; he was pretty sure he was, that this was reality and not some chemical-induced dream or, more likely, a simple hallucination, but he had to check to make sure.