Greta gave Adam a critical once-over. "Would you have preferred Shady-Socks? I'd rather not start getting into naming my colleagues after body parts, if it's all the same to you." Not that she was planning to hail him by that kind of name in the corridors.
"Anyway, if you really want to know -- but remember you asked for this --" Greta rummaged around in her pockets until she found the scarp of confiscated parchment "-- you were voted: most likely to perform well if called on to perform an emergency sex ritual/virgin sacrifice; least likely to engage in cannibalism if it involved eating babies; third most likely to look better tied down; fourth on sexual activity as primary form of excercise; second least likely to use curses and/or torture on students unless it was necessary for teaching purposes; and the teacher with the most 'edible' hair. I've been trying not to think too hard about where they came up with those categories; I can only assume it wasn't something out of their class syllabus."
She tucked the note away. Adam really didn't need to see the illustrations or the comparative pie charts. If she were the kind of teacher who gave out grades, she'd probably have to give the students some marks for detail of analysis, whatever the topic -- thank goodness she wasn't. "It's true there are no formal failing grades in Quidditch, but colliding with a goal post, or a Bludger, or even another player at high speed can still have some unfortunate consequences."