Defence against the Dark Arts was about as close as Cerelia was ever going to get to practising the Dark Arts while at Hogwarts. She couldn’t practically do so for it would be a crime and if she even so much as thought about muttering one of the Unforgivables. Azkaban was hardly her first choice of a holiday destination. She decided just to read up on her favoured subject, having resigned herself to the fact that she’d be learning the Defence of instead of the actual thing that was more help than the aforementioned shoddy excuse for a subject. There was little she could do about it and even if she was foolish enough to whine to her father about her plight, next to nothing would be done - he’d merely send her a batch of books from one of the dingy bookshops in Knockturn Alley; and though they’d be well received, it would do little to placate the frustrated blonde. However, until she could put quill to paper in order to do so, she’d have to sit through the class.
Cerelia entered the classroom not long after Sam had and made sure to close it behind her. The irritation she felt was not evident on her face but her fingers were curled into her palms, the nails digging in ever so slightly. Not saying hello to the Professor, the blonde took the first available seat as far back as possible and dropped herself gracefully into the chair. She placed the bag down beside her, though not before getting out her notebook, her quill, an inkwell and her Dark Arts book that she’d charmed to look as if it was merely the Standard Book of Spells. She double checked it was still doing as she’d charmed it to before placing it on the table and focusing on that, deciding that she would take it upon herself to learn the useful subject - not the frail one that would achieve very little and not save even a third of them when under Death Eater fire.