Jack Dyllan was heading out to the Quidditch Pitch in a good mood, which was unusual for her. It wasn't that she was a gloomy person, but she her default mood was usually grouchy. When it came to grouchiness, though, the best cure was that swooping feeling in the pit of her stomach when she rode a broom.
She held her Comet 260 against her shoulder. The faithful broom had seen its fair share of wear and tear, but she groomed it superbly and almost daily, so it was in good condition. Her Uncle Chip kept hinting at giving her enough money for a better broom, perhaps a Nimbus of some sorts, but for now, Jack was completely at ease with her Comet. It had never failed her before.
In her other hand she held her own Beater bat, another gift courtesy her Uncle Chip, who encouraged all things magical. (Whoever said muggles feared magic, obviously had not met Chip.) She had also brought along a baseball to hit; it helped to practice on something smaller, because it made hitting a Bludger a whole lot simpler.
She looked up and realized with a jolt that there was someone else already out in the air...and they were plummeting for the ground. She scrunched her eyes in worry and her heart beat a little faster, but in the next second, they had pulled out of the dive.
Quidditch had a weird effect on Jack, and one of those was she was actually polite and courteous to others. It made her more self aware. So, juggling her things, she clapped in appreciation for the person.