Only the spare
Only five minutes into the meeting, and Regulus has already imagined 112 ways to murder someone in the room, himself included. Can a pen be used as a weapon? Probably. 113, with death by pen suiting Orion best.
Orion Black, who cares more about his pen collection than his own son. Sons, Regulus bitterly reminds himself, because he has a brother he hasn’t seen in eight years. But that said brother is something worth forgetting, and for lack of success in such a task, is just another thing to ignore.
Regulus is good at ignoring. A master, actually. A heart, what is that? There is no such abomination beating in his chest. Sadly, there are limits even he, Regulus Black, superior being, cannot avoid, like the voice of Walburga interrupting Orion for the 67th time in three minutes – he is counting.
Regulus internally rolls his eyes and sends a prayer to whatever gods exist that this punishment will soon be over. Even if that means giving Evan and Barty an extensive explanation of the fucked-up situation his procreators put him in eight years ago.
Why does Regulus’s life have to be messed up by the same two people who gave him life? He didn’t ask for any of it. Why did his spermatozoid self decide to win the race? The prize wasn’t worth it, decidedly. Well, knowing Walburga, her uterus must have lied and presented itself as appealing when in reality everything inside that woman is likely rotten.
Regulus is digressing in his own mind. Back to the present, he needs to focus on the bullshit this meeting is about. As if it were necessary to drop veiled threats to Barty and Evan just to ensure they’ll always chase after Regulus in races unless he messes up. Which translates to: if Regulus messes up his race – bad team strategy? Longer pit stop? A collision caused by another driver? – all of it will be Regulus’s fault anyway. Well, his dear, beloved mother will be sure to punish him for it.
Not to mention Snape’s role. Regulus pities him, prey to the Blacks’ manipulations. He did well last year, brought in the needed results, and showed sharp attitude on track. But mostly, he demonstrated an amazing talent for channeling Riddle’s impossible attitude. Snape might come from an unfortunate background – as Orion puts – but he is smart and knows his place, so he’ll do anything to preserve it.
Regulus is sitting at one end of the table, opposite where his father is seated. Orion isn’t even trying to acknowledge Regulus, too busy with his presentation and his wife. Orion doesn’t like her, but still, he acts as if the world revolves around her. Surely, Walburga thinks so, but that doesn’t mean she needs someone feeding into her delusion.
Regulus remembers to control his facial expression, pasting on a good-natured look of utmost interest and devotion to the team’s ambitions. He even pretends to take notes on his notepad. Walburga loves it when someone writes down her words.
Regulus is pretty sure his mother is convinced that, when she dies, this little notebook of his will be sold to a talented writer, who will then publish A Narration of the Incredible Life of Walburga Black, Beloved Wife and Mother: The Story of a Successful Woman Who Had the Precious Privilege of Motherhood. Of course, the title of the memoir would be as pretentious and untruthful as it is in Walburga’s mind.
Little does she know, Regulus learned a long time ago to forget whatever his family members say. Sometimes, to make things easier, Regulus goes as far as to pretend he is surrounded by chihuahuas. The rest of the time, he writes in his notebook whatever the fuck goes through his mind.
… never will I admit that thus, life is wasted when lived in the mind. It is unimaginable to overcome those same limits that perception sets; nonetheless, it is unbearable to wonder about infinity when all I can see is the nothingness of my worthlessness.
Regulus’s attention is suddenly diverted towards Barty. He is seated to his right, far enough from Orion and Walburga that they don’t hear him softly snorting at what has just been said – Regulus has no idea what it was, but judging by the room, he’d say some absurd expectations have just been placed over all of them.
To Regulus’s left, Evan is currently sending daggers at Barty, trying to signal him to hold his attitude in for later. At least with these two, there will be some entertainment in this season’s meetings. Regulus would have already drowned himself if he had to go through all of them with only Snape for company.
“…it is imperative none of you reveal Regulus’s identity” Orion is saying for the 89th time.
“We need to keep him hidden until the last possible moment. The idea is to provoke a reaction out of the Pegasus driver,” Walburga interrupts for the 274th time. She truly deserves an award for Mother of the Year – she can't even acknowledge she’s instrumentalizing her youngest to disadvantage her eldest son, whose name she won’t say.
How mindful.
It takes another two hours, 593 interruptions from Walburga, and 349 ways to possibly murder someone with what’s available in the room, for the meeting to finally end. Too bad the male and female givers of genes decide they want to speak to Regulus alone. Can’t they do it back home? Torture.
It’s the mother who speaks first, with a fake sweetness in her voice that gives Regulus the creeps.
“Fils, are we clear on what will happen next week?”
“Oui, mère” Regulus answers, without making eye contact with Cruella. Funny that they gave the name Druella to one of the relatives and thought Walburga was better than Cruella.
“Regulus, this is not enough. I need you to tell me what is going to happen” hisses the woman.
“I am to keep to myself. I am not to show my face outside of the team garage for the entirety of the free practice. I am to speak only with people from Star-Racing, Meteorace, and PitSnake. I am to hold back my driving during free practice. I am to wait until right before qualifying to show my face to Pegasus. I do not speak with Sir-”
“Don’t say the name of the vermin” interrupts Dracula. Regulus figured if the mother was to be Cruella, it was only fair the father be Dracula.
“I apologize, père” feigns Regulus in apology.
“I don’t want any surprises. Until next week, you are going to train along with Tom and Bellatrix. At Lucius and Narcissa’s wedding, your performance was lacking. It would be a shame if you disappointed in your first race in F1” which is Walburga for bring in the results or I’ll punish you.
“With your mother, we are to leave for business. We expect you to behave. You will fly to Bahrain with the others and we will meet you there” Orion isn’t even looking at Regulus, as if he’s speaking to one of many employees.
Walburga scrutinizes her son, searching for any hint of misbehavior or attitude. As she doesn’t find any – Regulus learned long ago how to avoid being betrayed by his body language or facial expressions – Walburga gestures to the general area of Regulus’s hair.
“Et s’il te plaît, fils, do something with…that hair of yours; it looks ridiculous” and with that, husband and wife leave the room without a goodbye.
“Oh mère, whose fault is it that my hair is atrocious?” mutters Regulus once he’s alone.
Because eight years ago, when the grand scheme of Walburga and Orion Black to make their youngest disappear after the eldest son escaped, Regulus did not only had to give up, basically, his whole life. He was also stripped of any rights or choices over his physical appearance.
Regulus had never been as vain as Sirius; however, as any other teenager, his ego could only take so much. The day Walburga entered his room and simply said, 'Fils, you need to cut your hair' Regulus was naïve enough to think it was just another haircut ordered by his mother. He couldn’t have been more wrong. He could barely hold back tears as his locks fell to the ground.
A buzzcut. Eight years of buzzcuts, of a bare head, of being unable to look in a mirror without thinking of a plucked hatchling. Regulus knew the haircut was yet another move by Walburga to keep her son in line; another demonstration of her power.
And now, as Regulus finally could let his hair grow out, she-Hitler had to complain. Bullshits. He couldn’t wait for his black locks to be back.
As Regulus gets out of the meeting room, he is istantly met by an amused Barty and mad Evan.
“Going somewhere Black?” challenges Evan.
With his blond hair, freckled nose, rosy mouth, bronzed skin, and tall, well-built figure, Evan could easily belong on the cover of a magazine. What’s striking, however, is the contrast he makes with Barty - Barty, who’s slightly shorter, with pale skin covered in tattoos, dark eyes matching his hair, a sharply cut jaw, and a straight nose.
While Evan embodies either exuberant cheerfulness and brightness or a calculated coldness, Barty alternates between a look of amused detachment and a murderous expression. Regulus has to admit, he could have found worse companions to grow up with over the past eight years. He almost likes the pair of them.
“Let’s get out of here” Regulus only wants to be out of the Hell building, with Barty and Evan following close on his heels. Snape has disappeared, but Regulus doesn’t care.
The hotel Regulus is staying at is not too far away, and with what he’s paying the concierge for privacy and secrecy, it’s their best bet to have a place where they can talk freely.
“Baby Black, you sure know how to treat yourself” Barty exclaims as they enter Regulus’s suite.
“Don’t fucking call me that, Crouch” Regulus sharply amends Barty.
“Fine, I’ll settle for Reg then.”
“Whatever… let me order food and alcohol so we can get going with the interrogatoire about my fucked-up life” Regulus throws his arm in the air, annoyed at Barty’s antics.
“With all the typical Black drama, I should have picked up sooner on who you are” smirks Barty, throwing himself on the couch.
“I’m not dramatic” Regulus defends pointedly.
“Reg, you can’t honestly tell me you never noticed your family lives for drama?” remarks Barty.
Evan, who has walked around the suite silently, finally speaks. “I saw you counting how many times your dad said it is imperative to keep Regulus a secret” he says, attempting and failing to mimic Orion’s tone.
“Please, never refer to the beings who brought me into this life just to make it hell as my mum and dad” sighs Regulus, giving up on making any objections because Barty and Evan kind of have a point; which, by the way, doesn’t mean he has to voice it out loud.
“Seeeeee? Dramatic” Barty chimes in. It makes Evan chuckle.
Room service finally arrives, and with some fancy junk food and champagne, Regulus is still not ready to give an explanation of the shitshow that was his life in the last eight years. Whoever said that trust can only be built by opening up was a masochist. A stupid human whose deepest secret must have been liking it when someone licked their feet. Absolutely, utterly, disgusting, fucked up but by their own choice.
Evan takes a seat on the floor, back leaning against the loveseat Barty’s sprawled on; Regulus settles into one of the armchairs opposite, glass of champagne already in hand. He gulps it down in one go and gets another one right away.
“Easy, Reg, you have eight years’ worth of tales to tell us” Barty teases but makes no attempt to stop Regulus.
“Cheers” Evan clinks his glass to Barty’s.
As Evan and Barty sip their champagne, Regulus waits. He will answer their questions, that’s it. Nothing less, nothing more.
With an unimpressed raised eyebrow, Evan sarcastically says, “Here I thought you would open up like a book.”
“I gathered you have questions I might have an answer to” replies Regulus simply.
Sometimes, with all the cheerfulness and good looks, Regulus forgets how easy it is for Evan to be haughty.
“How?” is Barty’s question.
“Need to be more specific, Crouch.”
“Will it kill you to call me Barty?”
“Yes” Regulus deadpans, making Barty roll his eyes in exasperation.
“When did the Alan White charade begin? And by the way, White and Black? Really?” Evan is quite serious about the conversation.
“Eight years ago, not long after Sirius left, and please, do not remind me of the ridiculousness of such a name” answers Regulus.
“Why the creation of the alter ego?”
“Because my parents knew Sirius was driving in F1 and doing well at it” Regulus says “they figured the little brother, who wasn’t doing too badly himself, could be the wild card to unsettle Sirius.”
“All right, but that doesn’t explain why they’d go to such lengths to keep you a secret” Barty interrupts, looking confused.
"Because, Barty" Regulus says bitterly, emphasizing his name, "imagine this: you escape from your family, leaving behind a little brother. It doesn’t matter that our relationship was non-existent then - Sirius and I were always highly competitive. Now, you’re out there following your dreams, but you never hear a word about your brother, and you never see him. The only family you ever run into is on the track occasionally, and even then, everyone’s used to Bellatrix being… well, Bellatrix.” Regulus pauses to make sure Barty and Evan are keeping up. They both nod for him to continue.
"Sirius has a solid first season in F1. But the Blacks have an eight-year plan to crush the one who dared defy the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. So, just when Sirius thinks he’s on top of the world, he finds out that his little brother – who nobody’s heard a thing about in years – is suddenly going to be his competitor. From now on, he’s in a constant rivalry with a brother who’s every bit as competitive, with the added mystery of being unknown. For eight years, the world’s been tracking Sirius’s record, but nobody has any idea how his ‘forgotten’ brother, Regulus Black, drives."
“Ding, ding, ding!” Barty jokes, as if Regulus has just explained some genius plan worthy of celebration.
“I mean, don’t take this wrong but… I fucking can’t wait to be next weekend. Honestly, I’m paying to see Sirius’ face” Evan is looking pleadingly at Regulus. The motherfucker is truly hoping to be there when Regulus and Sirius will ‘casually’ run into each other.
“I want in too!” of course Barty would.
Regulus helps himself for his fourth glass of champagne, already drained by the conversation.
“No offense, dude, but was the buzzcut necessary all these years? Because Evan and I used to joke about you looking like a plucked hatchling, especially when we were fifteen.”
Regulus would have been embarrassed, but honestly, eight years is a long time to get used to people laughing behind your back over a terrible haircut. “Yeah, I can’t blame you.”
“Oh my god, Regulus Black is not tearing into me for saying that?” Barty barks out in surprise.
“You misunderstand me, Crouch, I never said you can bring it up again, nor joke about my hair ever again, unless…” As the words hang in the air, Regulus is pretty sure Barty got the message.
“If it makes you feel better, Regulus, as much as Barty and I could joke about your plucked-hatchling aesthetic, it was actually infuriating when you grew into your features to look like that even with the buzzcut” Evan gives an appreciative look at Regulus.
“What Evan is trying to say is that the Black genes don’t lie… you, my friend, look dashing” Barty winks at Regulus. “But let the hair grow out, and I have no chance with the women, not with how you and Evan are utterly breathtaking.”
Regulus feels himself blushing despite everything, and as he tries to cover it by filling his fifth cup of champagne, he notices that Evan’s cheeks are quite red as well, and Barty’s attention is mostly on blondie over there.
“As if it ever stopped you from bringing any female who breathed in your direction home” Evan pointedly says to Barty.
“Evan, Evan, Evan, half of those beautiful creatures wanted you, but when it was clear you weren’t interested, they settled for the consolation prize.”
“I have standards, Barty.”
“Standards or not, you still enjoy watching m-” Evan doesn’t let Barty finish his sentence, throwing himself over Barty, grabbing his wrist with one hand, and pointing a very threatening finger at Barty’s chest.
Almost growling, Evan mutters, “Do not.”
“Clearly you have some unresovled issues here, but please I don’t want to witness whatever… this is” interrupts Regulus, narrowing his eyes trying to understand what is going on.
Evan throws a gentle warning punch and releases Barty. They settle each on one end of the loveseat.
"Back to the topic," Evan says, eyeing Regulus with genuine curiosity, "I’m honestly curious Regulus, how do you feel about Sirius?"
"I don’t care. I ignore him, and that’s fine," Regulus replies curtly.
Evan narrows his eyes, clearly unconvinced. He’s always been a bit too emotionally perceptive for his own good.
"By the way, Reg," Barty chimes in, looking smug. Regulus instantly dislikes that expression on him, and Evan looks wary of whatever Barty's about to say.
"Evan and I had a… very enlightening chat the other day," Barty continues with a grin. "We got into our, uh, preferences about what we look for in a partner" He raises an eyebrow. "And as it turns out, I lean more toward a Potter type. But Evy here? He wouldn’t exactly say no to your brother, if you catch my drift."
“Barty, shut up! I didn’t say that!” Evan protests, kicking Barty in the shin.
“Oh, didn’t you say you were a Black’s stan?” Barty teases.
“Only because you said you’d go for Potter!” Evan snaps, his voice rising indignantly.
“Exactly” Barty smirks, “which begs the question – would you go for Regulus, then?”
“Shut the hell up, Barty” Evan says, clearly mortified. He turns to Regulus. “I’m sorry, Regulus, it’s not… it’s not like that.”
“Oh, so now you’re insulting me by saying you’d gladly share a bed with Sirius but not with me?” Regulus says, pretending to be offended.
Evan’s face flushes red as he buries his face in a sofa cushion. Barty, thoroughly amused and entirely unapologetic, adds with a flourish, "Reg, light of my life, sun to my moon, I’m proud to say that my loyalty is with you. I’d happily go for you, but I’d never touch your brother."
“Thank you, Barty, but you’re not my type” Regulus replies dryly, completely deadpan.
Barty clutches his heart in mock pain. There’s a beat of silence as the conversation sinks in, and suddenly, Regulus finds it hilarious. Or maybe it’s the alcohol finally kicking in, but he can’t stop himself from bursting into laughter, followed by a startled Evan and highly entertained Barty.
As their laughs fade, Evan suddenly seems to come to a realization “Holy shit, Pie was right”
“Sorry, who’s Pie?” Regulus is confused.
“My sister, Pandora! I think you met her, yeah, but anyways, she told me I knew you but just not as Regulus!” with that, Evan takes his phone, possibly to text his sister.
Regulus should probably try to stop him, but he’s not in the right mindset to do it. Besides, did Evan just say his sister already knew who he was? It’s not like it’s a secret anymore, isn’t it?
At some point, all three of them are too sloshed to even remember why they’re here in the first place. Regulus isn’t sure how it happens, but suddenly he’s singing into Evan’s hand as if it’s a microphone, while Barty twerks on him to Bourgeoisie by Conan Gray – don’t ask Regulus how Barty manages to twerk to that song, but somehow, he does.
Then they’re having a pillow fight on the bed, with Regulus winning every round by cleverly making Evan and Barty go after each other.
Somehow, Regulus is now doubled over, nearly peeing his pants with laughter as Evan and Barty try to snort water up their noses.
“I WANT CHICKEN NUGGETS!” Regulus cries, tears freely running on his cheeks.
“I WANT CHOCOLATE!” Evan answers, with equal conviction.
“I WANT CUDDLES!” Barty demands, now sprawled out on the floor.
The following morning, Regulus wakes up tangled up with Barty and Evan in his hotel bed, some leftover nuggets on the nightstand. Evan’s face is smeared with chocolate, and Barty, nestled between them, is snoring contentedly.
Regulus’s head is pounding. Carefully, he disentangles himself and heads to the bathroom to grab some painkillers. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he looks awful, and… wait. Did he cut his hair at some point last night?
A flash of Barty saying he’s ‘very good at cutting hair’ crosses his mind. He suddenly remembers sitting in the bathtub with Barty hovering over him, scissors in hand. How did things get so out of hand last night?
Yet, despite his rough reflection, Regulus has to admit… the haircut actually looks better. Not that he’d ever thank Barty for making a drunken decision. Absolutely not. He’s certainly not acknowledging that, for the first time in eight years, he almost feels confident about his hair.
While Evan and Barty are still asleep, Regulus orders room service and checks his phone. Strange, he has several unread messages from… oh, fuck. Could things get any worse? Regulus drunk-texted… No, Regulus never drunk-texts anyone. Unless…
“WHO IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THE DMs WITH LOCKHART?” he shouts, jumping onto the bed and jolting Barty and Evan awake.
“Jeez, Regulus, is that really necessary?” Evan groans, attempting to throw a pillow, though his aim is so poor it lands on Barty instead.
“I’m hungover. Get lost,” grumbles Barty.
“Evan, Barty, whose idea was it to text Gilderoy Lockhart of all people last night?” Regulus demands menacingly.
Evan and Barty exchange guilty looks. Regulus is tempted to kick them out of his room. He could do it, and he’s ready to… but instead, they end up sharing breakfast. Damn Evan and his puppy-dog eyes.
“Sooo… what did Lockhart say?” Barty finally dares to ask.
“Your mess, your responsibility. Get him out of my life, capisce?” Regulus snaps, shoving his phone at Barty. They wisely refrain from pushing the conversation any further.
However, Regulus feels the need to ask it “Why Lockhart?”
It’s Evan who answers, without looking away from Regulus’ phone “Because he’s arrogant and we wanted to humble him”.
Fair enough.
After a few minutes, they hand his phone back. Regulus checks the messages with Lockhart and feels a bit of satisfaction – they thoroughly humiliated the pompous idiot. Not that he’d admit he’s pleased; he simply pockets his phone and shoots a glare at his companions. He could probably even start calling them friends.
That’s when Regulus notices he’s not the only one who went through a physical change last night.
“Evan… did you get your ears pierced yesterday?”
Evan doesn’t seem remotely fazed. “I did a great job with you two, didn’t I?” Barty says proudly.
“Regulus actually does look good, and Pie said she likes the earrings, so I’m keeping them,” Evan shrugs.
After breakfast, Evan and Barty leave. Regulus finishes packing and meets his chauffeur, who drives him back to the Black estate in Saint-Tropez. In the car, he dozes, hoping that the week with Bellatrix and Riddle in the house will pass as smoothly as possible.
Saturday.
Wake up. Train. Eat. Race. Listen to Riddle. Avoid Bellatrix. Sleep.
Repeat.
Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday.
Finally, on Wednesday night, Regulus finds a moment to breathe. Bellatrix and Riddle have left him in peace for the evening, as none of them want to be together more than absolutely necessary. Riddle is alone in his room, scheming over who-knows-what with Nagini – Regulus wonders if there’s something more between them, though the thought makes him deeply uncomfortable. Bellatrix, meanwhile, is out on a date with her husband, who arrived earlier that day.
At last, Regulus is granted some quite. He sits on the rooftop, stargazing. In the fresh air of the night, he lets himself wonder.
He imagines himself as a feather, drifting on the wind’s breeze; he fantasizes about being a horse, running wild as the air flows through its mane. He dreams of freedom, of college and friendship, of all the stories he could write about people. In the shadowws of the night, he allows himself to wish he had Sirius’s bravery, the courage to pursue the life he truly wants. But this is the life he deserves, he, Regulus Black, who isn’t good, who isn’t enough.
Unlike his brother, Regulus Black was never the white sheep among the black ones.
At dawn, he’s on a private jet, sleepless and aching for quiet. He hopes his cousin and Rodolphus will shut up soon – on a plane, the possibilities for murder are far too tempting.
“Rodolphus, may I sit with Bellatrix?” Riddle’s words are less a question, more a command. Rodolphus stands and moves away, and Regulus could almost kiss Riddle for the relief. He closes his eyes and sinks into the bliss of nothingness.
Regulus wakes as they land, his stomach churning from stress. Somehow, his legs keep moving. The idea of seeing Walburga and Orion soon makes him want to vomit; frankly, Regulus’ performance would be constantly on top if he didn’t have to see Dracula and Cruella.
At the track, Barty and Evan join him, and Regulus can barely hide his relief at seeing them. He sticks to them like a lifeline the entire day. Snape appaers sometime later, but he’s just another face in the blur of people moving in and out of Regulus’s life right now.
Free practice begins. Regulus drives, the single goal clear: good, but not too good. He mirrors Barty and Evan’s pace, ending practice in tenth. Riddle places first; Sirius, fifth. Regulus has managed to stay unnoticed.
The second and third practices go similarly. Walburga nearly slips and offers him a compliment – but he’s kidding himself; she’d never actually mean anything positive. She recovers by criticizing his hair, it looks better but still isn’t good enough.
Not good enough.
Saturday morning, Regulus empties his stomach on a secluded patch of grass near the track. Barty finds him there, hyperventilating, his heart racing. They stay there an indefinite amount of time, but luckily, not too much. When he gets back to the garage, Orion hasn’t noticed Regulus absence.
At lunch, Regulus doesn’t eat. Evan forces him to drink some sugary thing to have some energy, but that’s it. He might have had a conversation with Snape – something about the car assets or tyres – but it’s all a blur.
Honestly, the whole week has been a blur for Regulus. He’s not even sure where he is or what he’s supposed to be doing. Somehow, though, he’s managing to function well enough to keep his procreators off his back.
Regulus has Barty to his right and Evan to his left. They are walking among the stands, finally free to stroll around. They have one goal though: Pegasus. They make their way there casually, chatting as though they’re just passing by.
It’s hard not to notice Sirius from far away. Sirius, never shy about taking up space, always ensuring people around him notice. See him. Sirius, with his long, black, shining hair, mocking Regulus from the distance.
A distance that’s closing too soon.
Sirius is deep in conversation with Potter, and ironically, it’s Potter’s gaze that locks onto Regulus, taking him in, really seeing him in a way few people ever do. It’s Potter who, narrowing his eyes, solves the puzzle laying bare in front of him. It’s Potter who, at realisation dawns, stops dead in his track. Only when Sirius realizes Potter has stopped does he look back, then ahead.
And then Sirius meets Regulus’s gaze.
For an instant, Regulus wonders what would happen if he just broke down. In another life, maybe, brothers would run toward each other, meeting in a beautifully agonizing embrace. But Regulus keeps walking, eyes blank, steps steady, his face a mask, as if Sirius is just another hazy character in the novel his life is.
Regulus passes Sirius, ignoring him, his presence, but mostly ignoring his own feelings and emotions. His heart is not beating faster because of Sirius. Regulus is impassive.
Regulus is not impassive. When he is safe from prying eyes, Regulus breaks into a run, hoping that if he’s fast enough, he’ll outrun himself.
Of course, it doesn’t work like that. As he stops to catch his breath, he starts laughing, hysterical. Tears stream down his cheeks, and all he can think about is how pathetic this all is.
Walburga and Orion only ever thought about how they could affect Sirius. They never thought about Regulus.
They never think about him.
He is only the spare.