Harry groaned, he had this conversation with Ginny earlier, about how she was somehow from a different time, at least, what she remembered. And now, a person who was supposed to be dead and twenty years older at that, wanted answers from him about how he was Harry.
Harry was starting to get worried. Four years was a lot different than twenty years. He could blame Ginny's lapse of time on memory loss. What he didn't understand was Sirius, dead for more than a decade, had the body of a teenager. He certainly couldn't blame THAT on memory loss.
He needed Hermione... and as soon as possible. He wondered where she was on this little island. If she was even here.
"I am your godson." He handed him the little book that had been on his bed when he came in last night with his name on it. "You," he looked Sirius up and down, "obviously won't remember me from when we first met."