"Myrtle! Damn it, Myrtle! Just wake up!" he yelled in between heavy pants as he tried and tried to make her stir.
All she had to do was open her eyes. Just open her eyes and everything would be fine.
Suddenly, Sirius felt two large, rough hands—Hagrid's hands—enclose around him and pull him away from her.
Sirius struggled, ignoring the humiliating tears streaming down his face.
"Let go of me!" he yelled.
"I have to help her!" he sobbed. "Myrtle!" The cry wrenched from his chest in the most pitiful of ways.
Dumbledore knelt beside the cold girl and placed his wrinkled fingers at her neck.
The headmaster met McGonagall's glance with a sad shake of his head.
"Why aren't you doing anything? Do something!" Sirius yelled as he trembled dangerously. "Save her!"
"It's too late—"
"No!"
He tried to reach her—to save her—but it was too late.
That night, he closed his eyes, fearful of seeing her body again. He trembled in bed. Finally, he gave up on the idea of resting and sat up in bed, but suddenly he jumped at what lay before him: Myrtle Blyth sat before him on his bed.