Marlene makes pizza every morning.
It irritated Regulus the first time he stayed the night in her flat, after a long series of coincidental meetings in cheap bars and morning afters in cheaper hotels. He woke up alone, in a strange bed, with a hangover. That wasn't new. But the scent drifting in from the doorway certainly was. It befuddled his senses more than the unfamiliar surroundings had- Reg always woke up early. Always. So why did it smell like someone was making supper?
He didn't bother pulling on pants before he stumbled into the kitchen, where a surprisingly alert Marlene was bustling about the tiny room with the speed of much practice. Her flame-red hair was still untidy from sleep, and she seemed to be wearing his shirt. It looked better on her, the man decided, as he eyed the creamy skin on her exposed thighs. He glanced up from his examination to see that Marlene had stopped, and was grinning at him in a decidedly predatory way. Reg slung himself up onto a beaten chair and waited for the onslaught.
"Well, well. Sleeping Beauty awakens. Wondered if it was worth tossing you out the window, but I figured it'd be too much effort. Besides, bodies on the sidewalk upset my neighbors."
How the hell was she this alert already? Reg shot her a bleary-eyed glare and propped his chin up with one hand. She spread toppings on sauce with quick, efficient movements, then popped the whole thing into a rickety oven. Reg suspected she had a few charms on it, because there was no way that muggle contraption could be sturdy enough to not explode. He continued to watch it suspiciously as he replied, his words punctuated by yawns.
"It's not easy being this handsome. I need my sleep." The male shook his head at her as she began to wash her hands clean of flour and tomato. He wrinkled his nose in aristocratic distaste.
"And it's bloody difficult to sleep in when the whole flat smells like this. Really, Mar. It's only ten yet. Why're you making lunch?" She tossed him a look over her shoulder. It was one Regulus was very familiar with indeed- that look that said you are an idiot, I don't know why I bother.
"Because I don't eat warm pizza, you git. It's got to sit in the cooler for a good few hours; the thing's a piece of rubbish." Regulus considered this for a moment, then nodded solemnly. Eating cold pizza was no more mad than some of her other habits and a great deal less harmless- even if the thought of it did make his stomach churn.
"If I knew you could cook, I would've put more effort in turning you into a proper housewife."
She threw a dishcloth at him.
Now he knows that the pizza isn't for her, not really. Somehow everyone in the Order manages to show up at her flat, and they leave with a smile and a slice. There's no set date, never any planned dinner, but the entire pizza is always gone by the end of the day. Reg stays out of the way while they are there, because those who don't know him stare suspiciously and those who do know him do worse. It's worth Apparating away for a few hours just to see the smile on her face afterwards, hear the good-natured complaints about people who might have been his friends in another place and time.
He discovers, later on, that at some point he stopped whining about the smell, stopped just ignoring it, even, and has become accustomed to it. When he wakes in his own flat, or even the somber silence of Grimmauld place, it never smells of anything but loneliness.
A/N: So, er, apparently I'm incapable of happy endings with these two. Well, it was brighter than the last one, right? =)