Harry, now head auror, often thinks about his wife at work. With the amount of paperwork Harry has to read and sign, every stroke reminds him of the pain/love he remembers being forced to learn to write...
Harry's chicken scrawl was acceptable for Minerva Mcgonagall, accepted by Hermione Granger, but Fleur, Fleur Delacour refused. She would NEVER date a man who could not write properly.
And so 3 months into dating, Harry was sitting at a desk finishing up his summer work for his 7th year when Fleur with all the seduction a Veela is capable of, draped herself across Harry's lap.
The groan he made was one he would come to be very familiar with over the course of his marriage. Knowing his train of thought was entirely lost, he leaned up to kiss Fleur.
In an entirely too graceful movement, Fleur whilst gyrating her hips swirled her arms above her head, reached behind her and pulled one of her feathers in front of Harry.
The confusion was clear on Harry's face.
"You will write all of zis again until it eez neat." She paused, a surprisingly impassioned speech for such a menial topic.
"Or you will not share a bed with me again."
Fleur got off Harry's lap and walked off hips swaying.
Harry laughed again. Boy did he learn.