Druella dragged herself upstairs and flopped down onto her bed with little care for how she was surely mussing her hair and dress. She had spent all evening being careful of her appearance, and now that the guests had gone home and she was alone, there was no reason for her to be anymore. Part of her wanted to rip her dress off herself, tear all the delicate silk and lace into shreds, throw it to the floor and stamp upon it, but she restrained herself. That would cause a fight that she didn't want to have to contend with, not when she knew she was already going to have to convince her father that she hadn't been behaving improperly. That would be difficult enough…
She sat up, smoothing her hair, and glanced in her looking glass. It would be so much easier if her appearance was that of a nice and proper girl – the nice and proper girl that her parents wanted her to be and were convinced (however wrongly) that she was. She twirled a lock of her pale hair around one finger, arranging it in a delicate kiss curl below her ear, then sat up, straightening her back and painting her usual polite smile onto her lips.
When her father opened the door and stepped in, he looked tired.
He always looked tired, Druella thought, and he always had, for as long as she could remember. Druella's earliest memories of her father, Peter Rosier, the person she thought she was closer to than anyone else, were of him looking tired – of him being tired, too tired to talk to his little daughter…
"Druella," he said in a quiet voice, sinking down into an armchair and rubbing his forehead lightly, "your mother–"
"Mother's upset because I left the ballroom for a few minutes," she interrupted. "I don't know why she's so worried, Father, really, I don't…"
"Don't you?"
"No…" Druella's voice trailed off and she blinked innocently. "No. I really don't, Father. All I did was step away from Cygnus for a while… I was a bit tired and I thought it would be better for me to take a few moments to collect myself then faint in the middle of the ballroom."
Peter shook his head slowly. "Really, Druella, do you believe that?"
She hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, Father."
"You think this is about you leaving the party?"
"I- isn't it about that, Father?"
"No," he told her firmly. "It's not about that at all. Your mother isn't upset over you deciding that you needed a bit of fresh air – she's upset because she can't stop thinking that your marriage isn't going to work out properly."
"Wh- what?" Druella's heart skipped a beat and she felt her palms growing damp. "Wh- why- why does she think that? I mean… I like Cygnus Black. I like him fine… I think the marriage will work out fine–"
"But your mother disagrees."
"She's the one who wanted me to marry Cygnus Black in the first place!" Druella said indignantly. "Father, she's the one who was so eager to have the marriage finalized as soon as possible and she's the one who keeps holding parties and having Cygnus come to them so that he and I can dance together – if she doesn't think the marriage will work out, why is she doing all that?"
"You're a smart girl, Dru," Peter said, almost tenderly, shaking his head. "But you can be dreadfully naïve sometimes…"
Druella fumed. She wanted to tell her father that she wasn't the least bit naïve and that he underestimated her just like everyone else in the world did, but she gritted her teeth and spoke softly, sweetly.
"Then explain it to me, Father," she said, all false innocence. "Why does Mother think that the marriage to Cygnus isn't going to work out and why does she keep bringing him here and pushing for us to get married if she doesn't?"
"It's complicated, Dru…"
"Then explain it! You said I'm a smart girl, but you don't really believe that at all, do you, or else you wouldn't just tell me it's complicated!"
Peter sighed, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes and Druella pressed her lips together and dug her nails into her palms, waiting for him to give her an answer. It was infuriating, it was all infuriating, all this being treated like a child… being treated like she wasn't clever enough to understand the oh so terribly complicated workings of society and marriage…
"We need a connection to the Blacks," Peter told her at last. "It's as simple as that. If we want to retain any of our good name, we need to marry into the Black family. It's the only way for a family like us to survive…"
"Why?"
"Because," he said sharply. "Because the Blacks are a far larger, far older and far more influential family than the Rosiers will ever be, no matter how much we wish that we were. Just because we are Purebloods, that doesn't mean that we're of the same calibre as the Blacks, or that we have any chance of improving our standing…"
"Our standing with whom?"
"With the other Purebloods. Druella, I said that it was complicated. It would be wonderful for our family's reputation to be married into the Blacks, that's really all that needs to be said…"
"So then why does mother think that the marriage isn't going to work out?"
Peter sighed, standing up.
"She has… ideas about what sort of girl men like to marry. Old-fashioned ideas, I suppose, but that doesn't mean that they're entirely invalid. Men like socialites, men like girls who enjoy parties and dance with them until the night is over, and men like women who hang on their every word…"
"I do like parties!" Druella protested. "And I listen to Cygnus. I told you, I like Cygnus!"
"Yes," Peter said calmly. "Yes, you like Cygnus. You like Cygnus. But you don't adore Cygnus and consider him the most wonderful man in existence."
"Why- well- I don't–" Druella stammered, taken aback, and Peter shook his head, a small smile playing upon his lips.
"You and I know that just because you don't worship him like a God, doesn't mean that the marriage can't be successful," he told her. "But your mother worries. Humour her. It will only make her all the more pleased when you and Cygnus are happily married with plenty of children in fifty years. Now get some sleep, my dear."