The teaspoon drops to the floor with a clatter.
Her hands are shaking. Again. She sighs, and puts the cup of tea again, for fear of spilling any more.
These attacks have been increasing lately, she muses. Not that she had not expected it. The healers had told her as much. Who would've thought, that this is how it would end for her? It's rather ironic, really, that after fighting a war and helping her best friend defeat a Dark Lord, after everything, she would not be able to reap the benefits of the life she had fought for. She can almost see the mocking headlines Rita Skeeter would write.
She does not resent anyone for it. It was something to do with one of the spells that had hit her in the final battle. Namely, the one also known as the Imperius Curse. She hadn't even realised she had been hit with it, until she found her mind struggling to fight back. She had been somewhat successful, aided by Expelliarmus she had aimed at her attacker, but according to the Healers, it had left an impact on her mind, eating away at her control and sanity, slowly but surely.
Hermione Granger, war hero, dying of what would essentially be the magical equivalent of Parkinson's.
She smiles sadly and picks up the teaspoon.
Notes: I have no idea what inspired this. it's not great in itself, but well.