When I blow my whistle, I want each of you to kick off from the ground, hard. Keep your broom steady, hover for a moment, and then lean forward slightly and touch back down. On my whistle...3...2... Neville: Oh... Hooch: Mr. Longbottom. But Neville, nervous and jumpy and frightened of being left on the ground, pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Madam Hooch’s lips. ‘Come back, boy!’ she shouted, but Neville was rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle – twelve feet – twenty feet.