Hi, Harry Potter and Bleach are not mine, and enjoy.

They walked out into the hallway again, this time staggering like drunks. The effect of the strange magical pressure had yet to wear off, and so the wizards leaned on the walls for support. Dumbledore, despite his slow pace physically, was mentally rocketing ideas in a way that would put Dr. Filibuster's Fabulous Wet-Start, No-Heat Fireworks to shame. His ancient mind was running rapidly, searching for some answers from the phenomenon that had just occurred in the room before. It was impossible, absolutely impossible for the magical abilities of a single living thing to make the air itself collapse down. It defied nature and the laws of magic.

It would take at least a hundred wizards, no, more, to raise the pressure to that point. Again, Dumbledore wondered on what Cornelious had found, this time with more curiosity.

And the sword, the weapon of choice. It was like it had a soul of his own, like a horcrux. Immediately after thinking that, he knew it to be wrong. No, Dumbledore knew that was not a horcrux. It wasn't riddled with Dark Magic like Tom's diary. It had screamed at him in agony and pain like a horcrux, demanding something called "Ichigo," and it did feel like it was forcibly torn, but a real horcrux would be more driven to sneak its way around the mind of its victim, not burst their ears with questions.

But before he could dive deeper into his thoughts, Fudge stopped at yet another door. Or where the doors should have stood. This set of doors had fallen to the ground, bent and twisted into an awkward position like they collapsed onto themselves in a kneeling position. The Minister didn't bother with the password, seeing as there were no locks to undo. Instead, the portly man took a deep breath and stood straighter. Dumbledore did the same, his straightening much more impressive as he towered over the small man before him.

Before stepping into the last room, Fudge grinned a smile that was an odd mix of excitement and nervousness, with shots of insanity in his eyes. He twirled his hat at record speeds, making it a green blur.

"Now, Dumbledore, this is where we keep the creature. Or should I really say, creatures. Yes, yes, after we restrained it the first time, we left it alone only to find that room destroyed too, this time by a different one. We don't know how it got there, but we made sure it's not coming out again, I assure you Dumbledore, both are quite restrained. And we have yet to fix both rooms, as the air in there is still too heavy from the animal behavior of the two. Quite inhuman, really." As he spoke, Fudge stepped over the twisted lumps of iron that had been doors and waited for Dumbledore to enter as well. When he did, Fudge grinned, if possible, even wider and manically thrust his arms outward like he was open the curtains of a stage.

"Behold! The creatures!"

What the Hogwarts Headmaster saw made his blood freeze. In the middle of the room, surrounded by dozens of tubes and machines, was a pair of glass pillars, as tall as a bus was long and just as thick. And in the center of each cylindrical tank, floating in bluish-white liquid, was a teenager. The one to his left contained an orange-haired boy with Asian features wearing nothing but a ragged pair of strange black pants, held on his waist by a white strip of cloth. His body was covered in scars, ranging in length and width. His once muscled body was now hopelessly skeleton, the muscles a shadow of what they used to be. Tubes covered him like leeches, some injecting liquids, some sucking out. His hair floated in the water like a drowning sun, brilliantly orange in the bluish liquid it was in. It grew past his eyes, the longest brushing against his thin shoulders as softly as ribbons.

The old wizard turned his eyes to the next tank and widened his eyes further. In there, gently floating as well, was an exact copy of the orange-haired boy. Everything was identical, from the scars to the strange attire. But it was like he was hit by both a Discoloring and Reversing Spell; everything was black and white and flipped. Instead of black pants with white belt it was white pants with black belt. While his twin's skin was ghostly pale, his was white like alabaster. His hair, which should have been a bright burning orange was a stark white, not even a silver like Dumbledore's beard. Like he was a bleached twin of the other boy.

Both had closed eyes and had masks strapped to their heads, allowing them to breath. But as Fudge stepped closer, both of their eyes snapped open like books. The orange-haired boy had fiery amber eyes, seared with anger and resolve. The white-haired boy's eyes were again in reverse, black where his sclera should be white. But, for once, he had color on him. His eyes were metallic gold, glaring at the fat man with hate and determination. Dumbledore read into their eyes, and saw not self-pity or despair, but confidence and power, the exact opposite of their situation. Their eyes glowed with strength and intelligence, the eyes of a warrior who fought gods and lived to tell the tale. They were, he realized, not animals like Fudge had described them to be, but living, breathing being as smart as himself, if not more so.

Fudge stopped a few feet from the two and, still spinning his hat, flickered his glance between the two.

"They are a most interesting pair, I must say. Could it be that their species are born with twins? And such unusual coloring! What a find, what a find indeed!" murmured the man as he spun his hat. Then, suddenly turning his attention to Dumbledore, he spoke louder.

"So Dumbledore, these are the beasts! And they're not just for show, my dear Headmaster, as you could tell from their weapon. Just watch!" Here, he cued some wizards who had huddled by the walls. They immediately ran to the machinery, which had enough buttons and levers to make Arthur Weasley giddy with excitement. They pushed and pulled on multiple gears, generating a whirling sound growing louder and louder as time passed. The pair immediately cringed in their tanks, their breathing becoming more ragged. They whipped each other's eyes toward each other, and the orange-hair one yelled something to his companion.

"Shiro! Go, now! Get away!" the teenager yelled into his mask. Dumbledore was surprised at the sudden Japanese that exited from the boy's mouth. But it was to be expected, as they both looked Asian. Luckily, the headmaster himself knew enough of the language to understand what they were saying.

The other one shook his head and growled viciously at his double. "Hell no, I'm not leaving unless you can, King. I'm not going anywhere."

The orange-haired teen gritted his teeth. "Shut it and go! Stop being stupid and get out!"

Again he was met with a growl. "A horse doesn't leave without his king, King. I'm not leaving you alone in this hellhole!"

Any argument from the orange-hair was cut off as the wizards finished their preparations and pulled a final switch. There was a burst of light in the tanks and both teenagers screamed in pain. From their bodies erupted a flame-like light, twisting and climbing upwards. Again, the air slammed down on the wizard's backs and they fell to the ground like flies. Dumbledore gasped at the heavy pressure but looked up from the floor at the two pillars. One was engulfed with bright blue energy flickering and twisting like fire, clawing at the glass. The other was black red but was still somehow just as bright, roaring and throwing itself on the walls of his tank. Magic, he realized. Magic in its visible form. And he also saw multiple tubes carrying out the energy out, to store somewhere else.

He struggled to keep his head up. Both teenagers were screaming their throats bloody, their voices cutting across the room like multiple knives. Occasionally there was a Japanese, Spanish, or English curse thrown in, all yelled at a speed too high to decipher. As a headmaster of a school, it boiled his blood to see two young teenagers tortured like this. And this, forceful removal of magic, was murder. Magic was a wizard's blood, loose too much and they'll die. It was the worst crime, a sin that could never be unwashed. And here was the head of the British wizarding world, literally absorbing the life out of the innocent. His eyesight clouded with fury and rage. He kept his head up, despite the crushing pressure, and looked for the two teenagers in the midst of the magic that wrapped around them. He stretched out his mind to them, reaching for the two. Dumbledore came close enough for them to communicate, but not enough to see their memories. Wait. I will come back, and then both of you will be free.

As if in response to his mental touch, the flickering energy moved out of the way and revealed the faces of the two. They were both clearly still in pain, with ragged breaths, but had stopped shouting for a moment to look at him. Amber and gold eyes met blue. They sent a quick reply to Dumbledore before continuing to shout in agony.

Thanks, Jii-san.

I don't know about the rest of you, but I like the plot of a captured main character driven to a wall then rescued by a third party:) Next chapter Dumbledore will be busting down the doors! And happy spring break for those who are on it:)