I don't own anything you recognize: the setting is Ryan Murphy's; the allusions are Lewis Carroll's; the characters are CPCoulter's.. But the tune is my own invention.

Sixteen minutes to curfew. The stillness that had been settling over the grounds of Dalton Academy was punctuated as a door slammed abruptly open and a boy flew down the steps of Hanover House. His prefect's warning still ringing in his ears, Wes tore along the path leading east towards the Windsor dormitories.

Over in his darkened dorm room, wrapped up in his cocoon of whirring gadgets and blinking monitors, Han glanced up from his coding, noticing the movement on one of his screens out of the corner of his eye. He stared at the tapped footage from one of the school security cameras for a moment, his fingers continuing to type unsupervised, before concluding that it was only Wes visiting David again.

His gaze continued to wander between the monitors until something else caught his eye. He stopped typing completely, scooting his chair over to take a closer look. On the display of a second camera he could just make out the figure of a small boy in Dalton uniform, making his way slowly north from the main entrance gate.

He fiddled with the computer, remotely adjusting the settings on the camera to bring the scene into focus, and frowned. The boy's face was not familiar- but then again, Han hadn't actually left his room in over a week.

Probably a new student, he concluded, turning back to his coding- but he paused to back up the footage to one of the hard drives. Just in case.

Eleven minutes to curfew. Passing the Main building, Wes put on an extra burst of speed as he hurtled along, skidded around a corner- and crashed headlong into someone else, knocking them both off their feet.

He was the first to recover, leaping up and apologizing, "Oh my God, I'm so sorry- here." He reached out and pulled the other boy to his feet, waving away his muttered thanks and watching him fidget nervously with the cap on his head.

"I am so sorry," he repeated, hopping on the spot and peering at the other boy anxiously. "Really, I- wait, I don't think we've met. I'm Wes."

"Laurence," the younger boy offered, extending a hand for Wes to shake. "I'm a transfer student from England- only just arrived. I'm looking for Hanover House."

Wes' eyes lit up. "You're in Hanover? So am I! I can take you there myself, only-" he hesitated, then ploughed on. "I've got to duck over to Windsor really quickly first- do you mind taking a detour?" The new boy shook his head hastily.

"Great! Follow me!" And he bounded off immediately, the other boy tripping and stumbling in his attempt to keep up.

Wes had come this way so often that he barely had to pay attention to the route, but he was surprised to realise that the new boy didn't seem at all fazed by the lavish décor of Windsor House, not batting an eyelid at the antique furniture, the Elizabethan architecture- or even the scorch marks on the ceiling. Before he could muse over this, they had turned the final corner and gone barrelling through a door.

"DAVID, I SWEAR YOU ARE-" Wes skidded to a halt, taking in the room which had clearly been unoccupied until their arrival, "-apparently not here," he finished lamely. "Well. This complicates things."

"It's okay, you go look for him," the new boy offered quickly.

Wes' eyes lit up in gratitude and he started for the door, throwing a hurried thanks over his shoulder. Then he stopped abruptly and turned back, a hint of apprehension in his expression.

"This might seem a little odd, but I'm going to lock you in this room. I don't know how much you've heard about Windsor, but trust me when I say it's for the best. I'll be back in a minute- don't go anywhere!" And before the other could do so much as open their mouth he had bounded out, the door clicking resolutely shut behind him.

"DAVID MICHAEL SULLIVAN, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY GAVEL?"

Evan and Ethan stepped neatly back into an alcove as Wes hurtled past them, clearly intent on his search-and-destroy mission. As he thundered away down the corridor, the two traded bemused glances, noticing that Wes had locked the door. That meant he thought it would keep people out, and that meant that he clearly needed to be reminded of the legendary Brightman lock-picking skills.

In a matter of seconds the door had swung silently open, the twins slipping inside and closing it softly behind them. They turned to survey the room and immediately picked up on the one thing out of place- there was a boy standing in the middle of the room and, from the way his gaze was flitting around nervously, he was new.

The two watched as the new boy walked over to the massive featurewindow that dominated David and Blaine's dorm room and stared out of it, looking towards where the twinkling lights of Hanover House would just be visible in the distance. He seemed to be judging the distance to the ground, looking for an escape route and realizing as the twins had before him that at five metres up, jumping was pretty much out of the question.

But what was he doing there? He must be new, as neither boy recognised him and they made it their business to know all of Dalton's goings on- and yet new students neverarrived so late, never looked so lost, were never left so alone. This boy must have sneaked in- or rather, he must have been smuggled in. But by whom?

David and Blaine were the obvious suspects, as it was their room. The March Hare was faithful to his girlfriend, had been for years, and would never dream of doing such a thing. But Blaine, their quiet little White Rabbit-

Their eyes widened in unison as they reached the same conclusion. With growing excitement they advanced silently on the boy, positioning themselves for the ambush. A nod from one sent the plan whirring into motion.

"Hello, Alice,"

Trying to do justice to CPCoulter's creations is kind of daunting, but I hope I haven't totally messed up.. This will probably end up being a four-part story by the time it's finished, but in the meantime reviews would be very much appreciated (and I will love you forever, seriously).