For a moment, Sybill seemed more profoundly surprised by Minerva's outburst than she was worried about them being trapped. Her eyes widened, an affect vastly exaggerated by her glasses. Then the reality of their situation seemed to pierce her brain once again.

"H… how will we get out?" The quiver in her voice was obviously an effort to not sound out of control, but it wasn't very successful. Minerva could still hear it, barely contained hysteria.

She looked around, running her fingers over the cool metallic surface. "There is usually some sort of emergency telephone, for just such an occurrence." After a short search, she came to a panel that slid back, exposing a blue telephone receiver. She'd never used an emergency phone before. There were no buttons. She lifted it to her ear.

"Hello? Is someone there?" It was seconds before she realised it was ringing.

Behind her, Minerva could hear Sybill's continuously rising noises of terror. A gruff male voice answered. "You're stuck in the elevator."

"Yes. What's going on?"

"There's been a power outage. I'm afraid the elevator runs on our main circuit. The lights and security system are run by an emergency generator, so they should stay on for you. We're trying to trace the source of the blackout. We'll do our best to have it running again within the hour."

Minerva was incredulous. "Within the hour! You're going to make us wait in here for an hour?"

"Ain't not much else we can do. Sorry. Doing the best we can."

"Well, we'd appreciate it of you could do it as quickly as you can, as well."

"We are; I assure you."

"Thankyou." She hung up.

Sybill was still making noises that sounded faintly animal. Minerva mashed her face with one hand. Of all the people to be trapped inside an elevator with. Deliberately, she kept her voice measured, turning to face the other woman.

"Calm down, Sybill. Their power has failed, that's all. They said it might take an hour to get it running again."

Taking a huge, rattling breath, Sybill glared at Minerva from under her eyelashes. "I warned you. I told you."

Minerva sighed. "Yes, well, that's rather beside the point now, isn't it? I don't have a time turner to reverse the decision. So I suggest we make ourselves comfortable." With that, she leaned back against the cool steel wall of the elevator, and allowed her feet to slide from under her. It wasn't the most forgiving of surfaces, but with muggle security cameras monitoring them, she could not very well transfigure herself a sofa.

She peered up at Sybil from her seated position. "Are you just going to stand there for an hour or more?" Arc of a thin brow.

If it were possible for a sigh to be pointed and accusatory, that was the sound that came from Sybill's lips as she followed Minerva's example, and settled herself in one corner, arranging the shawl about her shoulders as if it were a protective barrier. The gift the muggle woman had given her was now beside her on the floor.

Sybill was twisting one of the shawls tassels about her fingers. She didn't look at Minerva when she spoke. "And what if they do not get us out in an hour? Will we run out of air?"

Minerva shook her head, even though the other woman's eyes were not on her. "No. These machines have sufficient ventilation." She wasn't entirely sure she was correct, there, but she wasn't about to share that particular doubt with Sybil. It had been a long time since she'd immersed in the muggle world. Elevators had been different, then. "Besides," she couldn't help it, "I don't know what you're so worried about. You spend your whole life in a tiny tower full of perfumed fire. How much fresh air could you possibly get up there, anyway?"

"I am not really there, Minerva. I travel the astral plane." Whenever she spoke of such things, her voice took on its misty quality, as though the theatrics were so learned by now that she could not turn them off at all.

She let out a small snort. "And how much fresh air is there on the astral plane?" Minerva's voice mimicked the melodramatic tone.

"It is a place of the mind, Minerva, a place where such things do not come into account. A place where transfiguring tea bags into tables holds no merit." The quiet anger with which she spoke actually made Minerva look up.

They descended into a hostile silence, then; two people poignantly aware that they really didn't like each other at all, yet would be stuck within a six foot square area for an indefinite amount of time. The silence was tense, for a time; then bored, as Sybill once again fiddled with her clothing, and Minerva examined her fingernails.

She supposed the problem was in her practicality. What did divination actually do for anybody? It was pointless, a waste of time and energy. Were there not muggle security cameras, Minerva could have done some rather practical things to make both she and Sybill more comfortable. What the hell divination give you in a crisis?

A sly, disloyal part of her mind purred into her ear: If you'd listened to her, you wouldn't be in this situation in the first place.

Minerva sighed. This was ridiculous. She let her head loll against the wall behind her, then turned it so she was looking at Sybill.

"What did the woman give you?" she asked, finally, as a peace offering.

Sybill looked, up, as if surprised that Minerva had spoken. Perhaps she was. After all, Gryffindors often possessed stubbornness in equal quantity to their bravery, and when two lions declared enmity, the fur from the catfights could be astounding.

"I'm not sure, I didn't check." Her words were cautious, as if she expected a trap.

Minerva chuckled at her wry thought, then smiled, to show she really was attempting to make peace. "What were you waiting for? A moment when you didn't have anything to do?"

That brought a small smile to Sybill's lips, and a snort. She reached down and picked up the parcel Elaine had given her. It was long and cylindrical, a black cardboard roll with stoppers on either end. Both of the women peered at it with curiosity as Sybil pried one of the stoppers out and something heavy fell into her hand – the base of a bottle.

Surprise was etched in the lines upon her face as she slid it from within its casing, and peered at it. The bottle was made from dark green glass and, with that filter, the liquid inside appeared clear.

Minerva's voice came out quietly. "What is it?"

Sybill held it up before her eyes and twirled the bottle. There was no label. Her eyes shifted, as though she were about to make some terrible confession. "I have no idea."

Minerva smiled, but managed to restrain a laugh. "Perhaps there is a note inside the tube?"

Sybill laid the bottle on the floor of the elevator, picked up the packing tube, and shook it. A small piece of paper fluttered to the floor. There was a twisted, playful sort of smile on Sybill's face this time, as she leaned down to pick up the note, and looked at Minerva from beneath her eyebrows. "Perhaps you do possess the sight."

This time Minerva did laugh.

And then paused. She and Sybill were trapped in an elevator, and she had just laughed? Who ever would have thought?

Sybill's lips creased into a confused line. "It just says Drink a cup of this to help you see. I wonder what it is?"

Minerva glanced around at their steel prison, and wondered at just how long they'd be trapped inside. It wasn't often at all that she felt helpless, or reckless, but at that moment she felt both, like she was in seventh year and chasing the snitch through the Forbidden Forest for the glory of her house, all over again. Silencing any small inner voice that told her to be careful and sensible, she reached across to where the bottle lay on the floor, and snatched it up.

It took her a few moments to figure out the fiddly muggle seal, but she got it open. It smelled like tea, but she was quite sure it wasn't. Measuring the bottle roughly with her fingers, she lifted it to her lips and gulped down what was hopefully about a cup.

With a truly Gryffindor grin, she reached out an arm and extended the bottle to Sybill. "Let's find out, shall we?"

Sybill's eyes were huge behind her glasses. It seemed Minerva had surprised her beyond words for the second time that day. In a reversal of their usual roles, Sybill peered at the bottle dubiously. But hell, she wasn't sorted into Gryffindor for nothing, either. A Gryffindor never shirked on a challenge. She grabbed the vessel from Minerva's hand with the force of a blow, and heedless to measuring the dosage, poured a good few mouthfuls down her throat.