Harry found himself out of sorts after the war, at the same time lacing in direction and also pulled in several at once. Grief weighed on him heavily. Fred, Dobby, Hedwig… However, the loss of his beloved owl was balanced by the fact that Hedwig had left behind a clutch. Harry didn’t know the owl gentleman that Hedwig had given her favour to. Making sure the eggs came to no harm became one of his goals. Hermione helped him out with preservation spells, so the eggs wouldn’t hatch during the war.
But the war was over, and Harry, to be honest, was thrilled watching the eggs hatch. He now understood how Hagrid felt, watching Norbert come out of his shell. And Hagrid, the gentle giant stood right beside him, tears flowing into his wild beard, as he watched Harry gently check on the white owlets.
Since then, the owlets had imprinted on Harry and followed him everywhere, riding his shoulders, hiding in his pockets, and making his hair even more of a bird’s nest.
Watching the young father and his owlets was evoking strange feelings in one Fleur Delacour (formerly Weasley, poor Bill having succumbed to a curse in an unknown tomb). She decided to help out the young man. The owlets were decidedly adorable, though she did not appreciate them finding a hideout in her hair. Stil, she found herself over at Harry’s home with increasing frequency, looking forward to helping him with the little ones. Their little ones.