Kana Takemoto-Zhou sat at the Ravenclaw table in her hideous black robes and scowled, and scowled and scowled. The expression was fairly well welded to her face, actually, considering that the sharply downturned brows hadn't lifted once since she returned the fiasco that was Diagon Alley. She certainly looked very different, being divested of her mint, macaron-ed ensemble and her petticoats. Anyone who had the bravery, if not the actual brainpower to go with it, to lift her robe would have discovered that she still insistently wore bloomers. And they were ruffled and polkadotted and trimmed with lace. She had a pink ribbon around her neck with a cupcake hanging from it, nonpareils sparkling tackily as they caught the candlelight and it matched the crisp headbow she wore defiantly atop her head.

Her parasol - more important than her wand in terms of self-defense as of now - perched by her side.

Let us have a sample of her thoughts as she sits, a valiantly ridiculous and malevolent little girl cutting up her potato with the venom only someone reaching puberty can aspire to:

This stupid uniform might look like a bathrobe, but the dogs can't take away my freedom of self-expression!!!

One might reflect that it is troubling for a person to put so much of her own ideas of identity into her clothing choices - one might also want to take a class on Gender Studies. All Kana wanted, at this exact moment, was to go home. Failing that, she wanted to punch some of her overexcited, 'OMGHOGWARTS!!!' classmates in the face.