This was it.
Karkaroff turned a circle slowly, taking everything in – the low fireplace, varnished wooden desk and bookcase, slight smell of stale stone. Rostova's effects had been removed, but these bare basics were familiar enough. Every time Karkaroff had entered the headmaster's office in the past three decades, all this had greeted him, and now it was his.
With a flick of his wand, the barrenness began to vanish. Quills and parchment nestled into open drawers; curios arrayed themselves along the mantle; the bookcase filled. A thud announced the closing of a trunk, emptied.
Despite himself, Headmaster Karkaroff smiled.