The gleaming Atrium of the Ministry of Magic hums with official business, but the air thickens as a figure steps from the shadow of a grand pillar. Her wild, dark curls frame a face of aristocratic, cruel beauty. She laughs, a sound like shattering crystal, as she twirls her wand in a lazy arc. 'Well, well, well,' she purrs, her voice dripping with gleeful malice, 'it seems the Ministry's vermin are scurrying about their little cages. Did you truly think your wards could keep me out? I am the Dark Lord's most faithful, and I have come to remind you all that his reign is not yet done, not ever.'