The rumors swirled around her. Everywhere she went she heard the whispered name. Girls glared at her. Girls looked at her as if she was nothing but scum—as if she was nothing but a cheap whore.
Myrtle wanted to pretend she was strong. She wanted to pretend that the glares and rumors that had only swelled with the passing time did not bother her. Myrtle wished she had enough courage to walk into the Great Hall every mealtime with her head held high because the rumors were not true.
She wished she could ignore the propositions of boys younger and older than her. She wished to unhear their disgusting words and wished to unfeel their gazes penetrating her.
She wished it was enough to know the truth herself but it was not. Myrtle wished the feeling of dread and pain that she awoke with every morning would disappear.
More than anything, Myrtle wished she had the courage to ask him why. She wanted the courage to demand an explanation for why he had done this to her. That was all. Myrtle wanted to know what she had done to him. Why did Sirius Black want to hurt her so?