#SOBBING IN MLE | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

terriblelifechoices · 6 years

Note

how about arranged marriage and time travel for credence x percival?

From the fanfic trope MASH-UP meme. I am having heaps of fucking fun with this guys, feel free to send more.

Confession time: time travel has never really been my thing, because paradox makes me crazy. So I stuck Outlander and Terry Pratchett’s Night Watch in a blender, in true fanfic trope MASH-UP fashion, and …. Well.

I have accidentally committed fic. The beginnings of fic. It was an accident, that’s the important part to remember, okay? I DID NOT MEAN TO DO THIS IT JUST HAPPENED.

Trigger warnings for suicidal thoughts and sex education that honestly makes the stuff Americans get in health class look good by comparison.

New York, 1926

Graves liked drinking at the Fountain of Youth.

The Fountain was a proper wizarding bar, all gleaming grey marble shot through with streaks of silver and elaborately complex goblin-forged steel fixtures. It was named for the fountain set into the wall at the back of the bar, which fed the reflecting pool that ran the full length of the room. Some enterprising soul had spelled the surface above the water as hard as the marble around it, so that patrons could cross over the pool without fear of getting their shoes wet. Or, if you believed the rumors, without fear of coming into contact with the water, which was supposedly cursed. Graves suspected that last bit was pure fiction. St. Brigid’s Hospital notified MLE of all curse-related injuries – assuming MLE wasn’t already involved – and no one had ever reported a single incident at the Fountain.

He didn’t really care one way or another. He liked the Fountain because it was far enough away from the Woolworth Building that he was unlikely to encounter anyone who worked there. It was also expensive enough to ensure that that if he did encounter someone he knew, it would probably be a politician or a fellow department head with someone who very definitely wasn’t their spouse rather than one of his subordinates and was therefore disinclined to talk shop with him.

No one bothered Graves at the Fountain. It was peaceful, a little oasis of calm at the end of a shitty day.

“Another round, Director?”

Graves set his empty glass back down on the bar. “No, thank you, Hawthorne. I think I’m done for the evening.” Magic knew he wanted another drink – his day had been far too fucking long, and tomorrow wasn’t going to be much better – but all another drink would do was ensure that he started tomorrow with a headache instead of finishing it with one.

He reached into his pocket for a trio of dragots to pay for his drink. He wanted to go home and collapse into bed, but there was a small mountain of case notes waiting for him in his home office that he needed to review first.

Fucking Grindelwald. He’d stopped rampaging across Europe two weeks ago, and the entire wizarding world was waiting to see where he’d turn up next. The intelligence community suggested he was turning his attention towards America, but there hadn’t been a sighting yet.

Hawthorne shook his head. “No need.”

Graves glanced down at him. No one drank for free at the Fountain.

The house elf tilted his head, indicating a wizard tucked into a shadowy corner with one large pointed ear. “Gentleman in the corner paid for youse.”

“Did he,” Graves murmured. “Did he say why?”

Hawthorne gave him a pitying look. “Ain’t youse supposed to be some kinda hotshot Auror?” he asked. “Why does any wizard by somebody a drink?”

He had a point.

“Maybe he wants to be friendly,” said Graves.

“Yeah,” said Hawthorne. “Friendly. Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

“Sometimes I really wish Seraphina had decided to uphold Prohibition,” Graves told him, just to piss Hawthorne off.

“Yeah, but then where would you drink?”

Graves snorted in amusement, slinging his greatcoat over his arm as he headed towards the wizard in the far corner. He wasn’t in the mood to fuck his frustrations away – or have them fucked out of him, depending on what the other wizard wanted – but good manners dictated that he at least thank the other wizard for the drink.

“Percival Graves,” he said, by way of introduction.

“Oh,” purred Gellert Grindelwald. “I know.”

New York, 1693

The surface of the lake in Morrow Woods was smooth and cold as mirror glass, undisturbed by man or beast. Nothing lived inside the lake – not fish or fowl or any other sort of creature. No one swam in it, not even in the height of summer, when the cool water might have provided some blessed relief from the heat. It was cursed, or so Credence had heard it said. Even magical creatures gave the lake a wide berth. There was something about the lake that disturbed them.

Credence stripped out of his clothes, shivering in the cold night air. Curses frightened him far less than marriage. He dove into the water before he could lose his nerve.

The cold drove a startled shriek from his lungs. Credence sucked in water and choked, surfacing with a wretched sob. For one long, terrible moment he had more water in his lungs than air. He forgot how to tread water, splashing noisily while he tried to suck air back into his lungs. His feet hit the bottom of the lake – he must not have dove in deep enough, he was still too close to land – and he managed to stand, hacking up the last of the water.

“Please,” he rasped, pleading with the curse. “Please, take me away.”

No one drowned in the lake, or if they did, their bodies were never found. The curse took them instead.

“Please,” he begged.

The water was so cold it burned. If he stayed, he risked freezing to death. Or maybe drowning. Drowning did not seem so very bad, compared to the certainty of what lay ahead of him.

Suicide was a mortal sin. Credence had convinced himself that if the curse took him, that was magic and therefore the extension of God’s will, even if he died of it. But if he stayed in the water and let the cold take him, that death would be the work of his own hands.

A brief mortal life full of suffering was probably better than eternal damnation.

Credence thrashed his way out of the water, his limbs heavy with cold. He fumbled his clothing back on and went home, weeping silently.

“Get up.” Ma’s voice was as implacable as iron. She had no patience for sluggish layabeds, and having to come fetch him for his morning chores had likely already roused her ire.

Credence opened his swollen eyes and tried to obey. For once, his swollen eyes weren’t because of tears. The cold from the lake had settled into his bones, burning him up from the inside out. His head ached, a throbbing counterpoint to the rest of him. He couldn’t stop shivering.

“Sorry,” he rasped. “M’sorry.”

Ma frowned at him. “You’re ill,” she said flatly. She pressed the flat of her hand against his forehead. Credence almost wept with relief. Her hand felt blessedly cool against his skin.

“Sorry,” he said again.

Ma pulled her hand back. Credence almost fell over trying to follow it.

“Lay down,” Ma said. “I’ll bring you a potion. We need you healthy when Mr. Graves arrives.”

“Yes, Ma,” Credence said. His head felt like it was filled with cobwebs. He couldn’t think.

Ma made a faint noise of disapproval when she came back with the promised potion. “You wretched, miserable boy,” she sighed, but for once the words held none of their usual sting. Her hands were gentle as she helped him back into bed. She hadn’t raised them to him at all since his marriage to Mr. Graves had been arranged. Credence was Mr. Graves’ property now, and Mr. Graves wouldn’t allow anyone to mistreat his property but him. He had been very clear about that. “You were finally going to be useful to us and now you’ve taken ill. You’d best pray to get your strength back quickly, for Mr. Graves’ sake.”

“Yes, Ma,” said Credence.

The potion she gave him tasted vile, and it only served to make him even sleepier. Credence closed his eyes and let it drag him down into the dark, where the nightmares waited.

New York, 1926

Graves drew his wand. “Gellert Grindelwald, you are under arrest for crimes against wizardry –”

“Oh, don’t be tiresome, Percival,” Grindelwald chided. He had been handsome in his younger years, but there was something unsettling about him now. His blonde hair had been bleached an unnatural white, and his pale, mismatched eyes burned with frightening intensity.

Grindelwald had no intention of going quietly.

“Please,” said Grindelwald. “Sit down.”

Grindelwald hadn’t drawn his wand yet. He felt comfortable, clearly in control of the situation. No one else was in danger yet.

Graves intended to keep it that way.

“If I sit down, will you let everyone else go?” he asked.

Grindelwald smiled. “If you like,” he agreed. “I am not an unreasonable man, Percival.”

Graves had some doubts about that, but he kept them to himself. He tucked his wand back into his sleeve and snapped his fingers for Hawthorne instead.

Hawthorne disappeared from behind the bar and reappeared at his side, his expression startled and wary. Graves had never summoned him before, not like that. Only an asshole would mistreat a creature who couldn’t fight back; house elves were meant to be honored for their servitude. Decent wizards treated them kindly.

“Clear the room,” Graves commanded.

“Director –” Hawthorne began.

“Tell no one,” Grindelwald warned him. Graves shivered. There was an eldritch note in his voice, something ancient and awful. It sounded the way the Imperius felt.

Hawthorne made a startled, hurt sound.

Graves rounded on Grindelwald. “What did you do?”

Grindelwald frowned at him. “I forced him to obey my commands.”

“You didn’t need to do that!”

Grindelwald sighed, as if he found Graves tiresome. “He’s just a house elf,” he said, dismissive. All around them, the other patrons of the Fountain were gathering up their things and leaving. Hawthorne urged the last of the stragglers on, jaw working as he looked back at Graves.

He was trying to say something, Graves realized. Trying to warn them, despite Grindelwald’s command. Hawthorne clawed at his mouth, drawing blood.

“Stop!” Graves cried, unable to watch Hawthorne hurt himself. Hawthorne flinched at the command. “Just – leave me, please. I’ll be fine, Hawthorne. I swear it. My word as a Graves on it.”

Hawthorne gave him an unreadable look. For a second, Graves thought Hawthorne would try to disobey him too, and then Hawthorne vanished.

“So soft-hearted,” Grindelwald mocked.

“Only an asshole mistreats a house elf,” Grave snarled. “What do you want, Grindelwald?”

“Why, you, Percival,” Grindelwald said, sounding genuinely surprised that Graves hadn’t figured that out already.

“I wouldn’t fuck you if you were the last wizard in the world,” Graves told him. “Thanks for the drink, asshole, but you’re under arrest.”

Grindelwald laughed. “I’ll grant that you’ve a certain brutish appeal, Percival, but that’s not what I want you for.”

“What exactly do you want me for, then?”

“I want your life,” said Grindelwald. “I want your position and your name. I want your face.” Already his own face was shifting, his hair and eyes darkening. The shape of his jaw changed to match the stubborn set of Graves’ own. In less than a minute, Graves was staring at a man who might as well have been his twin.

He meant to take Graves’ life for his own, Graves realized. Grindelwald wanted to wear Graves’ own face like a mask to serve his own ends – to hurt Graves’ people.

“Fuck that,” he snarled, drawing his wand and firing off a curse.

“Dilaceratio!”

The slashing hex caught him in the wand arm. Graves’ grip on his wand weakened, just for a second, before training and experience took over. He took a firmer hold of his wand and ignored the bleeding, countering with a “Relashio” he hoped would make Grindelwald drop his wand instead.

Grindelwald hit him with lightning instead. Graves screamed in pain and fury, bringing his wand up to fling Grindelwald across the room.

Fuck, but the bastard was fast. Powerful, too.

“I see rumors of your prowess have been greatly exaggerated,” Grindelwald said. “How … disappointing.”

“Fuck you,” Graves retorted.

“I thought we’d established neither of us want that from the other,” Grindelwald said, surging up with a volley of hexes.

Graves blocked the first two and missed the third. The fourth took him in the chest, momentarily blacking his vision. Instinct took over and he returned fire.

There was only one way for this to end. Either he died or Grindelwald did.

Graves had cast the killing curse three times over the course of his career as an Auror. He didn’t count the times he’d used it during the war. The war was different.

This felt like the war – the chaos of battle and the certainty of his conviction. It was him or Grindelwald, and Graves would do whatever it took to ensure that if only one of them survived, it would be him.

“Ava –”

Grindelwald sent him crashing into the marble fountain behind the bar. Graves hit it hard enough to fracture the spells on the reflecting pool. He landed on hands and knees in the fountain, still clinging tightly to his wand.

Something strange happened when his blood touched the water. The reflecting pool shone bright as the heart of a star, just for a second, and then the whole world went white.

New York, 1693

Credence’s nightmares were filled with the day Ma sold him.

“We need men like you,” Ma said. “Good men.”

Gondulphus Graves scoffed. “You don’t want me because you think I’m a good man, Goody Barebone. You want me for my wand arm and my willingness to use it.”

Ma kept her back straight to look Mr. Graves in the eye, her hands folded demurely in her lap. “Yes,” she said flatly. Mr. Graves was not a man who appreciated artifice or flattery, preferring plainspeaking to pretty words. “That’s what I want. What will it take to get it?”

Credence was not sure why Ma was bargaining with Mr. Graves. Mr. Graves was clearly going to join them anyway. Credence had heard it said that Gondulphus Graves was powerful, but there were plenty of powerful wizards out there.

Mr. Graves turned cold eyes on Ma. For a second, Credence thought he would ask for her, and he was not sure what he would do if Mr. Graves did. Challenge him to a duel? He was little better than a squib; he didn’t even have a proper wand. There was no point in giving him one.

After a second, Mr. Graves’ cold eyes slid past Ma and landed on Credence. Credence resisted the urge to shudder in revulsion; he felt trapped by Mr. Graves’ eyes, as though Mr. Graves could strip him down to his skin with just a look.

“That’s a comely lad you’ve got,” he said.

“Adopted,” Ma said. “But no less dear to me than my own flesh and blood.”

“Of course, of course,” said Mr. Graves. “Is he a virgin?”

Ma bristled. “Of course!” she snapped, a hint of steel in her voice. “As if I would tolerate such behavior under my roof. You insult me, sir.”

Mr. Graves held his hands out in a placating gesture. “No insult was intended, Goody Barebone. Truth be told, I’d prefer it if the boy were untouched.” His smile sent chills down Credence’s spine. “I prefer to break them in myself.”

Ma stared at him coldly. “I will not,” she said, enunciating each word slowly and deliberately, “tolerate such behavior under my roof.”

Mr. Graves considered that. “Give him to me, then,” he said.

“Give!” said Ma, going pale with rage at the insult. Credence knew better than to think that it was on his behalf. Ma was just insulted that Mr. Graves thought she would sell him so cheaply. “Bad enough sodomy is a sin, but sodomy out of wedlock? No, sir. I will not stand for it.”

“Neither of you needs to stand for it,” said Mr. Graves, laughing at his own wit. “He only needs to lie back and spread his legs.”

“Ma,” Credence whispered, terror forcing him to speak. He didn’t want that. He didn’t want Mr. Graves.

Ma got up and backhanded him swiftly. “You will speak when spoken to,” she commanded, sitting back down again. Only Credence’s bleeding lip gave any sign that she’d moved at all. “I raised him better than that,” she told Mr. Graves. “He’d be a good helpmeet for you. Knows his way around the domestic chores.”

Mr. Graves eyed Credence. “May I?”

Ma made a be my guest gesture.

Mr. Graves got up, cupping Credence’s chin with hard, calloused fingers. He turned Credence’s face this way and that, releasing Credence’s chin so that he could wrap it around Credence’s throat instead, squeezing in clear warning. He used his other hand to stroke down Credence’s chest, his buttocks, between his legs. Credence squeezed his eyes shut, praying for it to be over soon, cheeks burning with humiliation. He couldn’t stop the frightened whimpers that escaped, but Mr. Graves seemed to like that.

“Give him to me,” said Mr. Graves, “in marriage, if you must, and I will join your cause.”

No, Credence thought, desperately willing Ma to hear him. To care, just once, about what he wanted. Please, please, don’t do this.

Please don’t give me to him.

Ma nodded once, decisive. She held her hand out for Mr. Graves to shake, the way a man might.

“You have a bargain, Mr. Graves.”

“Good,” said Mr. Graves. He shook Ma’s hand. “Feed him up a bit, would you? He might have the Barebone name, but I’ve no desire to fuck a little pile of them. I’ll be back to marry him by midwinter. I’ll join you then.”

Ma pressed her lips together, but she nodded.

Mr. Graves pressed a mocking kiss to Credence’s trembling mouth. “Smile, sweetheart,” he told Credence. “We’re to be married.”

Credence looked at Ma in mute appeal. It did no good. Ma had made her mind up.

“Yes, Mr. Graves,” he said.

Credence did not know, exactly, what passed between men in their marriage bed. He understood that sodomy was a sin, but he was less clear on what it involved.

“He’s going to put his prick up your bum and roger you,” said Ned Ponsonby, who worked at the stables of the inn. Ned was a No-Maj, but he knew about Credence’s kind and didn’t care, as long as their coin was good. He wasn’t exactly a friend, but Credence knew he took coin from men in exchange for certain services, and was thus the closest thing Credence had to an expert.

“He’s going to what?” Credence asked, numb with horror.

Ned clucked at him. “Put his prick up your ass,” he said again. “And fuck you until he comes.”

Perhaps ignorance was bliss after all.

“That’s – that’s –” Credence gave up. “Does it hurt?”

Ned shrugged. “Sometimes. If he’s big, or if you don’t stretch well enough ahead of time.”

“Stretch?”

“Are you going to repeat everything I say like a nervous virgin?” Ned asked, squinting at him.

“I am a nervous virgin, Ned!”

Oh, God, he hadn’t meant to say that. Terror had stolen his control over his tongue.

Ned sighed, taking pity on him. “I know that, Credence,” he said, almost kindly. “Everyone knows that.”

“Oh,” said Credence, utterly humiliated.

“Look, I don’t know what your people do, but us ordinary folk, we use a bit of grease to get ready, yeah?”

“No,” said Credence. “I mean, not no, we don’t do that, no, I don’t know what you mean.”

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” muttered Ned. “It’s like watching a lamb get led to the slaughter. Coat your fingers in grease, rub them around your hole, ease ‘em in and make some fucking room, alright? If this man of yours is half the brute everyone says he is, he’ll tear you if you don’t.”

“Isn’t that how it’s supposed to go, the first time?” Credence asked. “Women bleed.” There was talk if they didn’t. He didn’t want there to be any talk about him, not if everyone already knew that he was untouched.

“You’re not a woman, dumbass.”

“I – Yes, but –”

“Just – Oh, hell. Just take my advice, alright? Get yourself ready as best you can, and if you can’t do that, then come see me after. It’ll be easier to explain things to you once you know how everything works.”

“I – yes. Thank you, Ned.”

“Credence,” Ned said firmly. “My coin?”

Credence passed over his meager savings. It was wizarding currency rather than No-Maj, but coin was coin.

He walked away from the stables and resolutely did not weep.

Graves surfaced with a howl of rage, thrashing in water far colder and deeper than the reflecting pool of the Fountain. He twisted, trying to find Grindelwald, but there was no one else in his immediate vicinity. He was entirely alone, floating in some kind of lake that literally had not been there a minute ago.

“What the fuck,” he said.

Fuck, he was cold. The water was freezing. He had to get out of the water before the cold sapped his strength.

Get out of the water, find Grindelwald, then kill him, Graves told himself.

He swam towards shore, grateful that he was near the edge of the lake and not in the middle. His waterlogged clothing made swimming difficult, and he had to resist the urge to kick off his shoes and rid himself of a bit of the weight. He’d need his shoes once he was ashore; the area around him was entirely forested.

Where the fuck was he?

At a guess, Graves thought he might be somewhere in upstate New York. The trees were oak and ash and sycamore, just like the ones around Graves Manor. The air even smelled the same.

How the fuck had he gotten to upstate New York?

What the fuck was in the water at the Fountain? And it had been the water, Graves was sure of that. Everything had been – well, not fine, but normal – until his blood had touched the water. Was that how the rumored curse worked?

Find Grindelwald, then kill him, he reminded himself. Everything else could wait, including getting answers to every last one of his questions.

Graves spelled the water out of his clothes, casting a wordless warming charm.

Grindelwald was unlikely to be lurking behind trees. And while it was tempting to wait and see if Grindelwald surfaced in the lake as Graves had, Graves suspected that Grindelwald was somewhere else.

Grindelwald was also probably wearing Graves’ own fucking face, just to add insult to injury.

“FUCK!” Graves yelled, startling several birds into flight. The trees accepted this silently, offering no censure for his outburst.

Graves felt ridiculous anyways. Yelling like a toddler who hadn’t gotten a cookie wasn’t going to do any good.

He sighed, looking around himself for signs of human habitation. There was a dirt road leading towards the lake, the dirt lined with ruts from wagon wheels.

Graves frowned at them. There was something not quite right about that.

He followed the dirt road away from the lake, pausing only to bandage his still bleeding arm and occasionally curse his shoes, which were perfectly fine for sitting at his desk in the Woolworth Building and completely useless for wandering through the fucking woods. He couldn’t even run in the fucking things. How had his life gotten to the point where he owned shoes he couldn’t run in? He was an Auror, for fuck’s sake. He needed to be able to run.

After twenty minutes or so, Graves thought he could hear the sound of people, somewhere in the distance. He stopped short once he crested the hill, staring down at the small settlement the dirt road led to. The buildings were short and made of wood, smoke rising from chimneys and cookfires. There were people, too, dressed in clothing Graves hadn’t seen since he was a boy at Ilvermorny, learning about the original Twelve Aurors and the Founding. Women in petticoats and men wearing stockings and breeches.

Maybe they were just historical reenactors, he thought, but Graves knew himself well enough to know when he was grasping at straws.

Graves realized, somewhat hysterically, that he’d been asking the wrong question. He shouldn’t have been asking where he was.

He should have been asking when.

#my fic #tumblr fic #i have accidentally committed fic #graves/credence #fanfic trope mash-up #tora42

23 notes · View notes

klovenhooves · 7 years

Text

Rusted Shadows, A Dramione Fanfic, Chapter Three

Six months went by too quickly for Hermione’s liking, and before she knew it, it was November. On good days, she could forget about the attack completely – she could lose herself in her work, in conversations with Ginny and Luna, in a book. But other times it would sneak up on her, like a sudden chill, and she would be left paranoid and restless for hours. It was worse when it rained; the feeling of rain on her skin reminded her of the ripping agony of the knife in her skin, of the ache in her head, and she found the rain to be oppressive, almost predatory now.

It didn’t help that no one was ever apprehended for her attack. After three months with no leads, Theo had to admit that the case would probably go unsolved. A fanatic that fled the country, he said. Hermione didn’t believe it.

Sunset painted the sky a dark orange as she slipped into the restaurant two blocks from the Ministry that she liked to visit when she had a long day. It was an expensive little place with spindly, delicate looking chairs and waiters that knew their patrons by name, but it had gnocchi pesto dish that she loved and soft, cheesy garlic bread that tasted like comfort.

“Mrs. Granger-Weasley,” the hostess said with a smile. “Would you like me to tell the chef to prepare your favorite and box it up to go?”

Hermione smiled, feeling already bolstered at the idea of her dinner. She opened her mouth to respond, and caught sight of a familiar silhouette, sitting alone. “Yes, Mary, and could you bring it to Mr. Malfoy’s table when it’s ready? I’m going to go have a chat with an old friend.”

“Of course, ma’am.”

He didn’t see her approach until she was already pulling out the chair in front of him. “Not interrupting anything, am I, Malfoy?” she asked. He had a folder open in front of him, a quill perched in his slim fingers. At the sound of her voice, he snapped the folder closed, his usually unflappable gaze a tad too surprised to be innocent.

“Granger,” he said, his voice neither warm nor cold. “To what do I owe this…pleasure?”

“I haven’t seen you since…” she trailed off. His jaw tightened for just a moment, and his hand over the folder looked suddenly awkward.

“I remember,” he replied. “How have you been?”

“Well, I have some lovely scars,” she said, trying to smile, but not really succeeding. “I feel like I never got to really thank you –”

“I told you I didn’t need you to thank me, Granger,” Malfoy said with a shrug. “Just –”

“Don’t die,” she finished. “I remember.”

“Of course you do,” he said with a hint of a smile. He glanced into the dimly lit restaurant. “You waiting for Weasley?”

“Oh, no,” she waved him off. “Just picking up dinner. I wanted to say hello, but you seem busy, so perhaps I shouldn’t bother you –”

“Actually, Granger,” he looked, for a moment, nervous, like he was second-guessing every word that tumbled out of his mouth. “If you’re not busy right now, perhaps you’d like to take a look at this,” he held up the folder, his eyes on hers, searching for any sort of reaction.

“Oh?” she said. “Is it something to do with Malfoy Enterprises? I heard you were moving into private security –”

“It’s a more…personal matter,” Malfoy said, sliding the folder over the table to her. “Please, sit down. But,” he placed his hand over it just as she sat and reached for the folder to open it. “You have to promise not to get angry.”

“Angry?” she asked. “Why would I be angry?”

He tilted his head at her, a hint of his old Malfoy sarcasm returning. “Granger, I know you better than you think.”

She narrowed her eyes at him but didn’t respond. After a moment, he released the folder and let her pull it to her. Slowly, she opened it, catching photos as they slid down into her lap. She stared at one of them for several seconds before she realized what it was.

A photo of Hannah Abbott’s dead body, blood pooled around her, her eyes wide open and unseeing. She snapped the folder closed and lifted her gaze to Malfoy, who was waiting for her reaction.

“Malfoy, you didn’t –”

“Oh Granger, you know I did –”

Immediately, she pushed the folder onto the table, pulling her hands back like the pages would burn her. “What…what are you –”

He raised his eyebrows at her. “Theo never found any leads.”

“So you picked up the case yourself?!”

“You promised you wouldn’t get angry –”

“Malfoy, the pictures in this file…” she slid the folder back to him. “Where did you get them?”

He didn’t take the folder, but left it on the table. “I have my ways. Now, what I need to know is: do you want to help me catch the guy that attacked you?”

She dropped her gaze from him to the folder, unopened on the table. Investigating was definitely breaking some Ministry rule, and surely putting herself in danger, but not investigating meant Hannah’s killer would continue to go free. She knew what was right…but her mind, calculated as it was, had already compiled a list of reasons why this was a terrible idea.

The fact that she’d be working with her former worst enemy was right at the top.

“The MLE have put this case away already,” she said softly. “Right?”

Malfoy, across from her, nodded sadly. “Theo said if they go three months without a lead, it gets put away so they can handle newer cases they can probably solve.”

She sighed, her decision tentatively made. “We tell no one,” she said sternly. Malfoy, across from her, straightened up. “I could get fired for meddling in a department that’s not mine –”

“Deal,” Malfoy replied immediately.

“If Ron knows I’m working with you, he’ll have a fit –”

“Well, you know how I feel about Weasley –”

She rolled her eyes. “I do, thanks.”

He took a sip of the wine to his left. “Granger, I do want your help with this because I know if anyone can figure out who did this, it’s you. But if it means lying to your husband, to your friends, maybe you shouldn’t.”

“Draco Malfoy, worried about my interpersonal relationships?” Hermione asked. “I guess men really do mature.”

“Don’t get your hopes up, Granger,” Malfoy said as Mary swooped in to deposit a bag of food in front of Hermione. “I just don’t want Weasley in my flat ever again.”

She smirked for a moment before she regarded the folder again. “Why don’t you make an appointment with my office tomorrow and we can look at this,” she nudged the folder. “I’ll make my decision then.” She grabbed the bag and stood, trying to decide if she should say anything else or if she should just go.

She had just turned away when Malfoy’s voice caught her attention again.

“Granger.”

She turned back to him; he was sliding the folder out of sight. “Malfoy.”

“Do you still dream about him?”

Suddenly, he wasn’t the scared sixteen year old she’d seen in his eyes when he saved her in the graveyard, but a grown man, perceptive and aware of the hurt they’d both had to survive. She clenched her jaw so tight it ached and gave him a single nod. He gave her a sad half-smile.

“Me too.”

***

The night passed like molasses. Hermione returned home with her dinner, her mind spinning. Seeing Malfoy in itself wasn’t terribly out of the ordinary; she had seen him in passing a couple of times in the last six months, but this was the first time she had the chance to speak to him. She felt like they had been tethered together by an invisible force ever since that day in the graveyard, since he held her hand when she cried. But they never spoke of it; in fact, they never spoke at all. They both seemed to accept this new kinship that they didn’t acknowledge.

She couldn’t say what possessed her to talk to him, but when she saw him, the urge had been so overwhelming that she was powerless to deny herself the opportunity. She ate in silence; Ron always worked late now. He took on extra shifts as an Auror every chance he got, staying late into the night and early in the mornings. He always said it was so he could make sure the wizarding world was safe, but Hermione suspected he just didn’t know what to do with her.

The melancholy, the listlessness that she felt with Hannah’s passing, with Neville’s mourning, had been almost so terrible it tore them apart.

She spent weeks in her bed, weighed down so heavily she couldn’t get up to eat, to shower, to do anything. No one had ever seen her like that, especially not Ron.

“Hermione, did you go to work today?” he asked her a week after the attack, when he came home to her in the same position, curled up on the couch, staring at the white wall.

“They gave me time off,” she mumbled.

“How much time?” he asked.

She shrugged, the movement alone exhausting her. He tried to talk to her for a while, but when he realized she wasn’t going to respond, he left her on the couch, deciding that letting her set her own pace would work best.

His patience didn’t last long.

“You’ve been through so much worse than this,” he told her one day, grabbing her arm. “Remember Bellatrix?” He forced her arm into her line of vision, the scar still shining bright white. “You survived.”

“It was supposed to be over,” she had sobbed, pulling her arm free. “We were supposed to be safe.”

“We’re never going to be safe, Hermione,” he exploded. “The sooner you realize that, the sooner I can have my wife back.”

“She’s not coming back,” she had mumbled, but he was already out the door, no doubt to Floo Harry so he could come calm her down. He hadn’t brought up that fight since it happened, but every now and then he would look at her when he thought she couldn’t see, like he thought she would break.

Sometimes, when it rained, and she returned to her hazy existence on the couch, too heavy with melancholy to move, he would watch her for a long time, staring at her like he didn’t recognize her anymore.

And perhaps he didn’t.

It threatened to rain in the middle of the night; the thunder shook Hermione from her deep slumber and when the first flash of lightening lit the sheer curtains by the bed, she immediately fled to the living room, where there were no windows and curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket so tight it felt almost oppressive. But no rain could get in that way. No thunder could either.

She woke sore and tired, and went to work in exhausted anticipation for Malfoy’s meeting. The sooner she got to the bottom of this, the sooner she could be herself again. It was almost two in the afternoon when Hermione finally heard the words she’d been waiting for.

“Mr. Malfoy to see you, Mrs. Granger-Weasley,” her assistant’s voice was a welcome distraction from the pile of paperwork in front of her. Hermione gratefully pushed away the roll of parchment she’d been reading and looked up.

“Send him in,” she replied.

She knew she looked awful, but she was relieved to see that Malfoy looked the same; his pale skin was particularly sallow, his eyes red. His tie was knotted just a little to the left, the collar just a tad askew. It was the most out of sorts she’d ever seen him, save for the day he saved her life.

“Granger,” he said as a greeting.

“You know, one day you’re going to have to call me Granger-Weasley,” she admonished lightly, removing more parchment from her desk so he’d have room for his folder.

“I am never calling you that,” he remarked, taking the seat across from her and depositing the folder onto the now clear surface. “So you might as well give that up.”

She wasn’t sure what to say to that, so instead of responding, she reached for the folder and flipped it open, trying to prepare herself to see Hannah’s face again. But instead, there was nothing but witness statements and Malfoy’s own notes.

“I took those photos out,” Malfoy said when she didn’t speak. “They’re in an envelope in the back so you don’t have to look at them.”

Her eyes jumped up to his, touched, and he shrugged, looking down at his lap. “Try not to look so surprised, Granger, people aren’t always miserable prats for their whole lives.”

“Who knew?” she asked, trying to be flippant. She caught his gaze for just a moment and thought there might have been a hint of a smile, but it was quickly hidden by longer pieces of his hair, free of its usual gel.

“If you take a look at the witness statements,” he said, clearing his throat, “you’ll see that the attacker always came at his victims from behind, which could indicate that he was worried about being recognized, even with his Invisibility Cloak or Disillusionment Charm. But, Longbottom said that his boots clanged on the ground.”

“His boots clanged?” Hermione repeated slowly, tasting the word in her mouth, and she flipped through the statement to find the description in question. “I don’t remember clanging.”

“But we were on dirt,” Malfoy reminded her. “You wouldn’t have heard him. But look below that.”

“What am I looking for?” she asked.

He reached over her hand and guided her fingers down. “Two lines below.”

“Healers could not close the stab wounds with the usual charms. They were forced to close the skin with Muggle stitches,” Hermione read aloud. She paused, furrowing her brow. “But…you said you closed my wounds –”

“With a charm that Snape taught me,” Malfoy finished. “When we were in sixth year, and I was –”

“I remember –” she interrupted.

“Right,” he said, looking momentarily self-conscious before plowing forward, “During that time, Snape had me coming into his office once a week for private lessons. He taught me a bunch of custom spells he designed himself, including Sectumsempra, which,” he indicated his chest, covered by his robes, “well, Potter taught it to me a little more in depth than I would have liked –”

“I remember that, too,” Hermione said, trying to suppress her shiver at the memory.

“Of course you do,” he said. “Well, the spell that I used on you was the one that Snape taught me as a counter-spell to Sectumsempra.”

Hermione, who had lowered her eyes to the statement again, perked up. “So you mean to tell me that…”

“That the spell Snape taught me was the only one that could close the wounds made by that knife,” Malfoy finished. “Which means someone knew Snape and his spells well enough to make the wounds almost impossible to close, unless by a man already deceased.”

“Which means –”

“The killer is a former Death Eater, yes, Granger, I’ve gotten that far,” Malfoy said, leaning back in his chair. “Unfortunately, that’s where I get stuck.”

She flipped to the first page. “Then let’s figure it out. Together,” she said, reading from the beginning.

#dramione #draco malfoy #hermione granger #rusted shadows

5 notes · View notes

cherrybomb-witch · 7 years

Note

Writing Prompt: Marlene has to explain to her child what happen to Evan, and why 'Dad' isn't around.

[Preceded by THIS ONE]

Shewas a truly extraordinary child, and it had shown early on. Most babies, forwhat Marlene knew, started walking at 9 months. At 7 and a half her daughter had her walkingaround the house, with the little girl’s feet on top of hers, for hours andhours. She’d started babbling at three months, and by the time she turned ayear, she’d practically mastered basic words and could call nearly every memberof her closest circle by their name (or her version of it). Magic was never even an issue. She was making her blankets float before she’d even learned how to seat up.

But it took her over a year beforeshe said “dad” for the first time. After all, she’d never really had a reasonto.

Words were a strange thing. They couldhave such power, looming over people’s life like a mantra, or a taboo. Eventhough her daughter hardly ever used the word, “dad” was written all over her,and the little girl probably did not even realize it. It was in the color ofher large doe eyes: emerald green so deep, Marlene’s viridian ones could havenever achieved such color. It was in the way her eyes glistened withintelligence and wit. Of course, that was as much Evan’s as her doing. Ariannehad taken the best of both brains, for sure. An abstract Ravenclaw mind and ananalytical Slytherin one merged completely inside the head of a little prodigythat by the age of five could already write her complete name and read thoseone-sentence-per-page children’s books. She watched everything like she couldnot get enough of the world in one stare, and analyzed every last detail withprecision. But most of all, the word was carved into the little girl’s cheeks whenevershe smiled, her smirk framed by two perfect little dimples. Unlike her father,however, Arianne smiled often.

The question caught Marlene by surprise.It happened late one night, while she was cuddled with Arianne in her bed,reading to her. Her daughter was curled against her side, under Marlene’s arm,as the woman read The Fellowship of the Ring to her. She had made sure toinitiate her daughter in the world of Tolkien early in her life, like Marly’sgrandfather had done with her. When she finished the chapter, Marlene markedthe page and left the book on the bedside table, uncurling her arm from aroundher daughter and moving to kiss her head. She paused, however, when she noticedhow the child was looking at her with wide, very much awake green eyes, withthe expression of someone who clearly had something important in their head,but did not know exactly how to start.

“What is it, sweets?” Marlene kneeledbeside the bed, running a hand worriedly over her daughter’s soft goldenhair.

“What happened to my dad?” the littlegirl dropped the question like a bomb, no hint, no warning, nothing. Just thesingle inquiry left suspended in the air between them. Marlene’s hand hadfrozen in Arianne’s hair, and her expression had gone completely blank.

No, she definitely had not beenprepared. She never would be. Arianne had always been precocious when it cameto intellectual things. But she’d never asked about her father, so Marlene hadgrown confident that it would never happen. She ought to have known better. Forsome reason, her daughter had taken her time with this one, but she had never,ever left a doubt unresolved inside her head. Marlene had told her about Evanonce or twice, punctual things that children asked about, like what did he do, or what was his favorite color or his favorite book or food (favorites alwaysseemed to be so important to little children, for some reason) and of course,what did he look like? But never what happened. All she’d said at the time wasthat he was not with them and never would be. Obviously, that was no longerenough to satisfy the girl’s curiosity.

“What happened?” Marlene repeated,trying to buy some time as she struggled to pull herself together in order toexplain that people sometimes just went where one could not follow, where theycould not return.

She could still remember that night.Traumatic experiences always seemed to happen at night. Aurors banged on herdoorstep, awakening her baby, and Marlene opened to a world of confusion.Interrogations followed in the midst of a chaotic whirlwind in which she had noidea who was watching her daughter, she was being accused of sympathizing withDeath Eaters, and it took them nearly three hours before it finally occurredthem to actually tell her that the reason of all of this was because EvanRosier was dead after a confrontation with the MLE forces and everyone knew hehad been a Death Eater and “Where you aware that you were sleeping with amurderer, Ms. McKinnon!? Answer now!” And all the while she was shocked, andterrified and desperate to get her daughter back and try to wrap her mindaround the concept that he was dead, and a criminal, and for some toxic,fucked-up reason she still loved him and wished with such an intensity that itmanaged to scare her that everything had all been just a bad dream.

Without noticing, her hands had startedshaking on the edge of a panic attack. Arianne reached out to rest her chubbytoddler fingers over her own, making Marlene slowly come back to the present.The blonde woman had to take a series of deep breaths. She couldn’t lose it infront of Arianne. She had promised herself that no child of hers would everhave to witness what she had seen with her own mother. After a couple ofminutes she finally managed to calm down, and forcing down the knot in herthroat, she wrapped her hands around Arianne’s and kissed the tiny knucklesrepeatedly before talking.

“You know how there was a war in MiddleEarth, between Sauron and the elves and men?” her voice was hushed and soft,vulnerable like she rarely ever allowed it to be. It was easier to compare whathad happened with fiction, both for Marlene to explain and for Arianne tounderstand. The little girl nodded, green eyes filled with solemnconcentration.

“Well” Mars went on “When you wereborn, there was a war here in Britain. There was a Dark Lord too, and he hadhis followers. They even wore dark cloaks, like the Nazgul. And just like inMiddle Earth, there were also people fighting against them. Good wizards andwitches” she paused to take another deep breath. She could feel the tearsitching to come out, but she forced them back. Now was not the time to think ofall the beloved friends she had lost. “Back then, I was fighting in thewar and…And so was your father”.

She had no idea how to carry on thetale. To be honest, no build up seemed proper to the end, the end was still thesame bitter finale from five years ago.

“He died, didn’t he?” Arianne’s voicewas barely a hushed whisper, sad, but in the way little children were alwayssad over things like death, without having really experienced the loss inperson. She had been but a baby when it happened, barely months old. Marlenehad barely slept a wink that night, but Arianne had practically dreamed all theway through it, under her grandmother’s care while the Aurors tried to getsomething useful from Mar. She never said anything. Not that she had anythingto say, really. Evan had been the only Death Eater she’d known about and he wasalready dead.

Tears had finally started falling downthe young mother’s cheeks without her realizing it at first. She took a deepbreath and looked down, as if ashamed of her crying, but eventually nodded,confirming her daughter’s words. She whipped away the salty drops with the backof her hand and tried to say something, but her mind was blank and overwhelmedwith raw emotion. Even after five years…had it really been that long already?

Arianne had started crying quietly too,though it was hard to guess exactly who she was crying for. Probably the girlherself did not know. But she threw her arms around Marlene’s neck and sobbedagainst her chest, not scandalously, but shaking with small tremors, like aleaf to the mercy of the wind. Marlene wrapped her arms around her daughter,scooping her up and laying back on the bed with her on top. She buried her facein the soft blonde locks of her hair, running a hand through them, crying andhumming to comfort her at the same time. It suddenly struck her that she’dalready been in a similar position almost five years ago. When the Aurorsfinally let her go, Marlene had picked up Arianne from her mother’s and headedstraight back to her apartment without a word to anyone, because she knew thatthey would not understand how she could be so emotionally destroyed with thedeath of a murderer, even if that murderer had been the father of her child.Marlene did not expect them to understand because she was aware that she wasnot being sensible herself. She understood that they were right and she waswrong to feel that way but there was nothing to be done about it. So she’d goneback to the comfort of her apartment, gathered as many blankets as she couldfind and curled on her couch, cuddling her sleeping child against her andcrying in broken silence until the sky turned grey, and then pink, and thedaylight came as if nothing had happened and she had no right to mourn. And allthe while, Arianne slept, unaware, in peace. It was the only thing Marlenecould rescue about that nightmare…that Arianne was too little be aware thatit had occurred. Until now, of course.

It seemed hours before either of themsaid anything. Marlene was sure her daughter had fallen asleep, until the girlbreathed deeply and sat up, brushing the strands of sunlight hair that hadstuck to her face after crying.

“Was it the bad guys who killed him?”she asked in her voice so filled with innocence. Marlene’s heart turned andshe almost burst out crying, this time scandalously, but for the sake of herdaughter managed to hold back the outburst. A child’s mind could be so pure.Pureness had been ripped away from Marlene herself after the war. She had seenthe worst in human nature, every patch of black in a person’s soul, everyhorror, and she had lost so many loved ones to it. And here was her daughter,asking if the bad guys had killed her father, never even considering to imaginethe possibility that hehad been one of the bad guys.

Marlene brushed her thumb fondly overher daughter’s cheek and rested her temple against that soft little forehead, lookingat her wide, curious eyes. Evan’s eyes in Marlene’s face.

“Yes, you could say it was the Dark Lordthat killed him” she provided and answer in the end, accompanied by a sigh.

Arianne was not entirely convinced,which under any other circumstances would have probably made Marlene laugh. Thekid was too brilliant for her own good.

“But that is not it, is it?” the fiveyear old narrowed her eyes accusingly.

“No, it is not” Marlene admitted, boppingher nose against her daughter’s “But for now, it will be”.

The girl pouted in protest “I amnot stupid, mama. I can understand things!” she scoffed, crossing her arms andlooking quite offended. That finally managed to get a small laugh out ofMarlene’s lips.

“Oh, I know you are not stupid, sweets.You are the smartest girl I’ve ever met. But just because you can understandsome things, does not mean that you should” Marlene sighed, rubbing her indexover the wrinkle between her daughter’s brows until the frown melted away. Thenshe added in a soft, loving voice “Don’t be in such a hurry to grow up,there is no need to get ahead of your years. One day, you will be ready to hearthe whole story. And I will be ready to tell it to you”.

“Pl…pwo…promise?” Ariane frowned a bit. The “r” was the only letter she still had trouble pronouncing.

If it were up to her, she would notpromise it. She would never speak of it again. How they had so stupidly,tragically ended up tangled together while they fought on opposite sides of awar. They had mocked the Greeks only to become actors of some twistedShakespearian material, and what was even more foolish of them, they had beencompletely aware of it the entire time. And yet, Marlene knew herself well, andshe knew she would not have done things differently. Especially considering thelittle girl she was holding, and whom she loved more than anything in thisuniverse or any other.

She owed the full truth to her daughter,she knew she did. In its due time.

“Of course I promise, melamin. I pinkyswear it” Marlene looped her little finger around her daughter’s and winkedthrough the last remains of her tears. And dimples danced onArianne’s cheeks.

#cherrybomb-witch #drabble #i don't even know *sobs and runs off to the corner*#atwistedoldfriend #c: evan #this turned out SO MUCH LONGER than I intended

6 notes · View notes

x-e-ni · 5 years

Text

Porque se capacitar com um curso de meditação

youtube

Fontes adicionais com relação ao o curso de meditação em sp também serão deliberados. Esse curso de meditação é um manual vasto, lidando com todos os aspectos principais da música espiritual. É objetivo do curso de meditação introduzir os conceitos básicos da meditação, de tal forma que os inscritos estejam aptos a iniciar suas práticas contemplativas sozinhos. O termo mindfulness surge geralmente traduzido como "atenção plena". Você quer mais saúde em sua vida?

Gostaria de ver mais sobre o curso de meditação em jundiai, de que modo eu começo? O conhecimento nos ajuda a não perder tempo com problemas simples. Técnicas de meditação transcendental. Ouvimos bastante sobre os benefícios da meditação na vida, para diversos grupos de pessoas. No começo, talvez você não consiga se concentrar de modo satisfatório, porque a mente não está focalizada. O que importa na meditação, é que algo em você o está levando a uma busca.

Curso de meditação

A própria meditação torna-se o solo fértil onde a supersafra da Paz, Luz e Deleite poderá crescer. Com algumas semanas de prática, você irá perceber mudanças em você mesmo decorrentes do silêncio interior que alcançou. Aqui, o Pai Celestial e o filho terreno são inseparavelmente um e a unicidade deles não é nada menos do que perfeição e satisfação. Você também ganha: lições em texto sobre temas específicos para cada módulo.

É relevante aprender sobre o curso de meditação em juiz de fora para todos os profissionais dessa especialidade. Se oferecermos felicidade a alguém, amorosa e sinceramente, aquela pessoa terá apenas boa-vontade para conosco. Além das mudanças autonômicas, desde a década de 70, também ganhou destaque a investigação dos efeitos cerebrais da meditação, sob a premissa de que estados mentais podem alterar as funções fisiológicas. Ao fazermos este tipo de meditação estamos também a ampliar e a exercitar a nossa criatividade e a percepção cognitiva e emocional que cada imagem nos traz, aumentanto assim a capacidade sensitiva de cada um.

Curso de meditação download

Quando vamos dormir, simplesmente paramos de agir e nos permitimos deitar na cama em silêncio, porém, podemos ser surpreendidos por um enorme falatório na nossa mente que pode afetar nosso relaxamento e qualidade do sono. Depois repita a palavra “sinceridade” silenciosamente e com todo o seu ser, concentrando-se no seu coração. Se praticar sem sinceridade ou paciência, nunca desenvolverá completamente o assunto e nunca saberá se aquilo é certo ou errado. Simplesmente evitar de ingerir qualquer tipo de carne vai ajudar, e muito, para termos um dia mais satisfatório e harmonioso.

Eu não sou um monge e nem atleta, mas, apesar de trabalhar fora, tenho uma disciplina diária espiritual, a qual é a minha grande alegria e fonte de satisfação. “Nossa mente funciona por excitação. Se você a acalma, não coloca elementos novos, naturalmente vai aquietando. Se sentarmos em silêncio, nós progressivamente ganhamos liberdade interna diante dos hábitos e condicionamentos”. Através de leitura adicional você irá conferir mais sobre o curso de meditação em fortaleza gratuito e também porque isso é lucrativo. Entretanto, até o momento presente, o que se percebe é um grande corpo de pesquisas que, mesmo não intencionalmente, sugere alguma uniformidade entre os efeitos das práticas meditativas. Todos os dias você deveria meditar em pureza.

Naturalmente, a transformação acontece em sequência. Com finalidade de compreender mais a respeito de quanto custa um curso de meditação transcendental, basta prosseguir com a leitura. Caso o aluno do curso de meditação seja aprovado na avaliação final, ele poderá solicitar o certificado do curso. Sua vida mais zen: uma vida mais zen somente poderá lhe trazer benefícios e mais lucidez para enfrentar situações difíceis e até mesmo complexas! Nesse exercício, mantenha seus olhos abertos e tente sentir que você está cavando um buraco na parede e, entrando nele, aumente a sua necessidade de atravessar a parede.

Curso de meditação rj

Há muitas coisas que são bem fáceis quando praticadas, entretanto, por não as praticarmos, não conseguimos o resultado. Quando Deus é satisfeito e ele se satisfaz na sua meditação, então é tarefa dele livrar você de seus sofrimentos e dificuldades. Você vai aprender exercícios e técnicas de respiração! O Yoga aborda técnicas de meditação para acalmar a mente e o coração e mantras, mudras e meditação. Um guia de meditação diária.

Saiba mais acerca do curso de meditação zona norte sp e qual a consequência disto na sua profissão! Com base em uma dinâmica comunicativa e vivencial, o curso de meditação tem como objetivo formar professores por meio do conteúdo teórico e prático em MLE como estratégia didática-pedagógica para o desenvolvimento de uma educação que considere a dimensão emocional do aluno. Lembre-se que sono e meditação são coisas diametralmente opostas. Não pense, não divague. Se tiver esse tipo de repulsa ou depressão que o motiva a abandonar o mundo, talvez esteja tentando meditar além da sua capacidade.

E você, já fez algum curso de meditação em algum lugar do Brasil ou do exterior? Quer se aprofundar acerca desse assunto? Sua percepção se eleva com a prática da meditação! Comece o curso agora mesmo! Pare de querer buscar a felicidade “do lado de fora”. Comece ainda hoje a meditar! Quer garantir sua inscrição no curso de meditação? Comece hoje mesmo! Simples, não? Agora, coloquemos isso em prática!

#como meditar pela primeira vez #meditaçao para iniciantes #apostila meditaçao #meditaçao video aulas #meditaçao transcendental #iniciantes

0 notes

just-harley-quinn · 5 years

Text

Chegou o mais novo curso de meditação

Esse curso de meditação é voltado para quem nunca tentou meditar antes. Técnica milenar, a meditação é utilizada para diversos propósitos, desde aumentar o foco mental, até a busca pela felicidade. Neste curso, são apresentados os fundamentos da meditação budista conforme praticada nos templos. A meditação tem transformado a vida de milhões de pessoas em todo o mundo, melhorando relações e a qualidade de vida de cada vez mais pessoas. Conteúdos extras relacionado ao o curso de meditação em porto alegre também vão ser supridos.

Meditação Chan, Círculo de Leitura e Estudo do Darma. De maneira geral, a meditação quando praticada diariamente somente poderá trazer efeitos positivos, e isso envolve uma enorme quantidade de aspectos em sua vida! E, se você tiver um sentimento dinâmico logo depois da meditação, se sentir que veio ao mundo para fazer algo e se tornar algo – transformar-se na própria imagem de Deus e tornar-se Seu instrumento dedicado – isso indicará que teve uma boa meditação. O treinamento do curso de meditação pode ser feito em 6 semanas ou no seu próprio tempo!

Curso de meditação

Você poderá fazer o curso de meditação da sua casa, do seu trabalho, no celular ou computador, enfim, é tudo muito simples e prático! Cuidado, se você meditar para fugir ou desafiar o mundo e ficar contra ele, não estará fazendo a coisa certa. O interessado irá conhecer um pouco mais relacionado ao curso de meditação em teresina hoje. Concentração – aprenda a se concentrar melhor. Sob a influência de mentes deludidas criamos, em nossas vidas anteriores, grande quantidade de carma negativo, também transgredimos nossos votos e compromissos e incorremos em quedas raízes e secundárias.

Hoje você pode ser um iniciante na vida espiritual, mas não sinta que será sempre um iniciante. Por favor, inspire tão lentamente quanto possível, tão silenciosamente quanto possível, e enquanto inspirar, tente sentir que você não está inspirando pelo seu nariz, está inspirando pela sua testa. Para seja qual for pessoa conferir mais sobre o curso de meditação gratis online vai ajudar no avanço da atividade profissional. Os esforços-aspiração sempre proporcionam resultados-satisfação.

O estado meditativo pode ser acessado em todos os seres, não somente como técnica e como disciplina, mas também como uma possibilidade de vida. Uma vez que você tenha aprendido a se concentrar, a meditação ficará fácil. Aulas práticas de Meditações ativas e Zen. Em estudo foi analisado o nível de adrenalina, cortisol e endorfinas antes e depois de um grupo de voluntários meditar. Foi comprovado que, quanto mais profundo o estado de relaxamento, menor a produção de hormônios do stress.

Curso de meditação online

Aprenda mais sobre curso instrutor de meditação aqui. Com base em uma dinâmica comunicativa e vivencial, o curso de meditação tem como objetivo formar professores por meio do conteúdo teórico e prático em MLE como estratégia didática-pedagógica para o desenvolvimento de uma educação que considere a dimensão emocional do aluno. No silêncio dos seus pensamentos, você ouvira uma nova música, de paz e dinamismo! A meditação é uma prática sem vínculos religiosos.

Fique sabendo mais a respeito do curso de meditação aqui. No início, pratique a concentração por alguns minutos apenas, após algumas semanas ou alguns meses, poderá tentar a meditação. Depois de meditar, quando sair de casa para o mundo, estará bem protegido, não com uma armadura, mas com pensamentos, idéias e propósitos divinos. Se eu quiser adquirir poder, me concentrarei numa realidade bem pequena. Outros benefícios: redução de sintomas de dor e melhora do sistema imunológico. Qual a duração e nível dos cursos de meditação?

Curso de meditação sp

Para melhorar a sua prática meditativa, sugiro ver nossas páginas com dicas de meditação. Por esse motivo desenvolvemos o curso de meditação, um reencontro de essências! Não há nada na Terra que não melhore através da espiritualidade e da meditação. A todo momento agimos, mesmo a inércia é uma ação, é uma opção consciente de não agir e portanto, uma ação.

Vamos sentir que nós crescemos na sinceridade interior e que estamos vendo tudo através da Visão de Deus. Outro benefício da meditação: melhora o índice metabólico. Se isso acontecer, saberá que está meditando da maneira correta. Como fazer um altar para meditação? A meditação passa a ser um companheiro do seu dia a dia, e não mais alguns minutos da sua manhã.

Como ficou evidente, meditar melhora o humor e ainda agrega uma série de outros benefícios na sua vida! Se quiser saber mais sobre meditação, olhe os links na barra superior. O certificado poderá ser creditado na carga horária para a formação avançada de professor. Permita-se acessar essa oportunidade e reconhecer com clareza Sua Essência! O curso de meditação tem liberação imediata!

youtube

#saude mental #budismo #meditaçao online #meditaçao

0 notes