It was then that Hermione noticed the piles around him. Wands. In the firelight, they gleamed beautifully, some of them polished to a high shine. Just disorganised heaps of wands, on the couch, on the table, on the floor—where had they all come from? Crazily, she thought he rather looked like a dragon, curled around them protectively, hiding his hoard. There must have been at least fifty, perhaps a hundred. It was so hard to tell.