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"So far as I can tell, the major split between my world and this one occurred here." Fred whispered, arms crossed as he stared up at a modern painting of the duel between one Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald.

"There are a few earlier inconsistencies, perhaps inconsequential."
Sharp blue eyes studied the painting as if it might hold a clue, even though the painter was not witness to the battle but had only imagined it. "Witches and Wizards who died but shouldn't have, mostly as infants. Records indicate they passed from a small outbreak of dragonpox in an old wizarding village. As of right now I don't think the difference caused much effect. So far as I'm concerned, my hypothesis has been confirmed."

It really irked Fred that he wasn't allowed to smoke in the museum, in public. Apparently witches and wizards here had never heard of spells to dispel smoke and protect valuables from damages.

Smoking helped him relax, helped him think. He could do without one but he always felt better with the tiny weight between his fingers or against his lower lip.

"I see no pride in Wizarding culture here. I see no pride in these people in being magical at all." Fred sneered in disgust, eying Grindelwald's unflattering profile. After a few more moments he couldn't even stomach looking at it.

Everything in him wanted to rip it off of the wall and burn it. Fred moved away from the painting, closer to the middle of the room. They were alone for now, thankfully, and might not be overheard.

Dumbledore, how he hated him. He was a coward. A coward with grand ideas and the power to bring them fruition but without the will to follow through.

It was because of him that the world was the way it was, because of his complete refusal to intervene until he was finally forced to step in. It was because of him that the current generations of witches and wizards knew more about the newest muggle pop singers than the history of how their people came to be.

"I discovered something while researching the coinciding muggle war as well." Fred continued. "It is as if both sides wish to forget the wars even happened, that millions of Jewish and thousands of magical citizens were sacrificed in the onslaught."

"In this world's ministry they sweep every unpleasant event underneath a rug, taking the coward's way out, doing nothing but trying to appease the naysayers with the deepest pockets." Fred attempted to lower his voice further, but the disgust was so thick in it it was probably palpable in the air. "Politics is a game as to who can gain the most gold and false power instead of a tool to be wielded by only the strongest to lead the people into paradise."

It reminded him of his family. They were of the types such as the Cornelius Fudge and even Scrimegeor of this world.

"The old families have no pride in themselves, relying on... money.. instead of their own talents and strengths." Fred's heart was beating thickly in his chest, and he wiped a sweaty hand on his pants. He was becoming as worked up as if he was at a rally, the indignity of it all making his mind race and anger pulse deep within his chest.