The owl fluffs up its feathers and then looks up at her with one clear eye and one that's made of amber. He turns to gently nip at her fingers before hopping off the windowsill and in a fairly unpleasant process quickly becomes human again. It's not the smooth transition of an animagus, nor the curse of a werewolf, but something organic and in-between.

He's a bit winded when done, but grinning widely, "Remember, don't hit too hard. I'm delicate."

His bones might still be somewhat hollow, but he's grown up and started to fill out a little. This Harry doesn't hold himself the same as the one she might've known from home at this age: his posture isn't that of a stalwart and upright Auror, but more birdlike and somehow at home among non-humans. If he's not careful, his vowels slip away from him and he'll end up talking with the first signs of a local accent.