Author's Notes: This is my second edited repost of chapter one because I got a review from someone and had to resist the urge to tell them to fuck off. Part of the point is for this to be unbelieveable, okay? We start off with an OC (who, by the way, isn't actually based on me, like a lot of OCs are.) then we'll get into the sci-fi thing with the Doctor and Martha. To my old readers, you might notice a change in name, but don't worry, Magenta will still be what people call her. There's a reason for it which you may or may not notice later. And age... and the year, possibly... other things as well... whoops. You might also be wondering why I put her age in quotation marks, but you'll get it later. 'Stay ups' are stockings that stay up by themselves - like suspender stockings without suspenders but still up-staying. By the way, I have absolutely no idea about the English school system. I've tried wikipedia, but that confused me. I tried googling it, but that confused me more, I asked a friend of mine who actually went to school in England, and she didn't actually get it either. So let me introduce you to the Aussie school system. Primary school from Grade 1-7. Senior school is 8-12 (or it is in Queensland, anyway). Grades 11 and 12 (which most people finish when they're 17) aren't compulsory but it's strongly encouraged to get out of there with a 'completion of secondary school' type certificate thing and you need that to get into uni. If you don't like my story, do my a favour and tell me why. But concisely. I'd appreciate that.

Disclaimer: Well, the word says it all, doesn't it?

Mr Gregson smiled across at the new physics teacher. The new physics teacher was 40, homely and about to start her first day... with a bang.

"If you have any questions or problems just come to see me." He said warmly, guiding her towards the classroom with his hand on the small of her back. "Now, Miss Ventra- "

"Oh, please feel free to call me Tarah." She smiled at him, showing her slightly yellowed teeth off.

"Alright then, Tarah, call me Tony. Now, which class do you have first?"

"I have," She paused, thinking hard, "a class with 12E for, well, physics obviously." She laughed before stopping at the expression on Tony's face.

"Tell me," He began in a strained tone, "do you have a Magdalena Moncrieff in your class?" Tarah checked her class role.

"Yes, yes I think I do." All remnants of a smile were wiped off Mr Gregson's face. They had stopped outside the classroom.

"Good luck with that." He managed before racing away. Miss Ventra blinked in the direction he had disappeared in before stepping into the deadly silent classroom.

The kids at Webbley Street East Comprehensive could hardly believe their luck. Every single class except 12E (and 9A who were stuck with a substitute) had been let out at least 5 minutes early so their teachers could congregate in the staffroom and, well, gossip. Speculate, might describe it more accurately, especially considering the betting pool they had going on. When Mr Gregson had let slip to Mrs Dommins that the new physics teacher had a class with Magdalenda "Magenta" Moncrieff in it, Mrs Dommins had set her class 'independent study time' for the entire lesson so she could discretely send an email to every other teacher in the school. So now, with a few minutes to go before morning tea was meant to start, Mr Gregson placed a £20 note on the table, just in time for Miss Vetra to sprint into the staff room, trying to hold back tears. There was a great silence, punctuated by Mr Gregson's strained "How'd it go?".

Magenta Moncrieff's lips twitched up slightly, as if she was going to smile. The reason for the almost-smile was the applause from her classmates with a few people yelling out 'Good on you!' and stuff like that. The reason for that was her recent success in overwhelming their new physics teacher. "Why, Miss Ventra, isn't that effectively saying that the Mpemba Effect is non-existent?"

"Well, no, not exactly."

"So what are you trying to say?" Magenta enquired. The conversation between them continued in that manner until 'I'm Gay' by Bowling for Soup came on over the speakers in the lab, followed by the computers and lights shutting down and the over-head-"in case of fire"-sprinklers coming on.

As the 12E students drifted outside, a hush fell over the grounds. Most of the school had been waiting eagerly for them to appear and share their tales. When the kids in 10B had heard the not-so-quiet conversation between their teacher and Mrs Dommins, a flurry of texts were discretely sent to friends in both higher and lower grades, even a select few were sent to other schools – one was even sent to an older cousin. And all about the same person. Brendan Connelly appeared with a recording on his phone of that lesson. In a matter of minutes, the phone was hooked up to a laptop and posted on YouTube.

At "16" years old, Magenta was pretty. There was something odd in her looks that prevented her from being beautiful by human standards. Her IQ was off the charts, but in no way was she a nerd. No, she had flawless white skin, perfectly straight black hair that reached to the bottom of her rib cage and rosy red lips. Some people called her Snow White as a nickname. She had a small, perfectly straight nose, pronounced cheekbones, plump lips that balanced her face perfectly, straight white teeth and eyes that were the perfect distance away from each other. Humans, as dull as they were, couldn't quite perceive her the way the rest of the universe did, but most of them picked up a certain air around her that set her apart. The most intriguing things about her face were her eyes. They were amber-gold with dashes of blue and green running through them like little brooks. But there were very few, they were only really there if you looked really hard. She had a freckle in her left eye, right next to a particularly golden patch. The colour was extraordinary, but not the most amazing part. No, the most intriguing thing about them was the way they swirled when she looked at you. The motion disappeared as soon as you looked closer, but they swirled with energy beyond what humans could comprehend. She always seemed to have what she wanted. You'd think she'd be stuck up with an ego the size of Clom, but no. In reality, just past that pretty, porcelain exterior was a broken girl with a self-esteem in the negatives. Her money, well, that was an illusion. Say she bought a new iPod. She would have got the money from working and selling her old iPod on eBay. If people told her she was beautiful, she would shrug and say 'I'm not as pretty as my sister'. Her friends would tell her she was a genius, and she'd say 'You haven't met my brother.'. She didn't get that her friends didn't just pity her - that they actually liked her. Why? Because of one man. The Doctor.


Her first day at secondary school she had shown up alone, going into grade 10. She had taught herself until then. She just walked up in a uniform that was second hand and slightly too big with a completely nondescript black bag hanging off her shoulder. She didn't know anyone. After homeroom, she blindly made her way to her first science class which would lead to a flutter of gossip passing around the class about her. The teacher, Miss Yanardasis, had begun explaining what seemed to her the most simple of chemical reactions and all too soon, she began dozing off. Then something about anaerobic respiration had popped up. And the teacher had got it wrong. So she had put up her hand.

"Yes Miss... Moncrieff?" She had corrected Miss Yanardasis, leading a few of her classmates to giggle. They had been taught by that teacher the year before and had learned that little old Yani was always right... even if she said the sky was green and water was turquoise. The teacher had replied by reading out a definition in the textbook. It was wrong.

"Yeah, because if it's in a textbook, it must be true." This response drew murmurs and Magenta got given extra homework. It would have been a simple enough incident if it were any other teacher, but that teacher was coughconstantlycough never wrong. Not even if she had clearly messed up an experiment. That teacher thought herself perfect and no one had ever dared challenge her before.

Xx Continuing on with the past but jumped forward to the next year Xx

On the first day of school the next year, she had been put up a grade so she had jumped to grade 12 and was dressed accordingly. She was in an area of London where kids grew up fast and they dressed to show it. She had altered her uniform – the 'regulation black skirt' had been pulled up over her hips to her waist and her 'plain white blouse' was tucked in with her school tie tied loosely around her neck. The effect, of course, was that she looked much older than "15" (well, almost "16" – it was her birthday next week). Some of the 17 year old girls had completely disregarded the rules with black and grey tartan miniskirts and fitted blouses with only half the buttons done up. They probably thought it looked good but really they looked like prostitutes. She passed a group of her classmates on her way to her first class – English. They had Mr Thorsen, a man whom the majority of them loathed vehemently. If you were one of the chosen few he liked, oh, well, good for you. But if you were one the majority he hated... run for cover. He was always running late, then handed out detention if you walked in two seconds after he did. Bloody hypocrite. To make things worse for the rest of them, Mr Thorsen had a son who could say someone looked at him in a belittlingly and the next day, the accused person would be set for detentions for the rest of the semester. Mr Thorsen had it out for Magenta because, even though she had a perfectly good reason, she had refused to go out with his son. She didn't date. Ever. Mr Thorsen's son was aware of the fact and persisted anyway. She had been polite when rejecting him and everything. So one day, when Magenta walked into the classroom straight after him, it was detention! Magenta, being Magenta, didn't go. Everyday of that term, he set her a lunchtime detention to make up for the one she missed. And everday, she didn't go. On the last day of term, Mr Thorsen went to the Headmistress and moved to have her expelled. Unfortunately, under extremely strange circumstances, a list of suspicious websites were visited from Mr Thorsen's computer account. Under the school's computer policy, he was dismissed after eyewittnesses came forward to place him at a computer at the times in which the websites were accessed. No one really noticed that they happened to be some of Magenta's best friends.

Xx Jumping forward to halfway through that same year Xx

It was about half way through the same school year that she became fixed in people's minds and not just a passing attraction. Their old Headmistress was an old "vulture", a stickler for the rules and obsessed with keeping 'the old ways' alive. Some kids swore they had seen a whip in her office. Magenta was on stage, being presented with an award for academic excellence. Her skirt had been shortened and pulled high for the 'special occasion' and her shirt untucked. Her tie was hanging around her neck like a scarf. As soon as she has stepped on stage, Ms Whetherbelle, horrified and offended, told her to pull her skirt down. Smirking, Magenta had pulled it down to the point where you could see the red elastic around the top of her underwear. Blushing at the indecency, Ms Whetherbelle demanded she pull them up again. With her smirk still present, Magenta pulled her skirt higher than it had been, revealing that her black stockings were actually 'stay ups'. While still managing some degree of modesty, Magenta walked across the stage like a model, making her high heels evident and somehow the movement had unbuttoned the loosened first few buttons of her blouse. Mrs Whetherbelle had immediately demanded she do them up again. Magenta had stared at her defiantly.

"Meh, no thanks. I'm fine." She was perfectly aware of the murmurs and whispers coming from the students and onlooking teachers.

"Miss Moncrieff, I assure you that detention is not as much fun as it sounds."

"Oh, I dunno. Seducing horny middle-aged pervs has always been a great pass-time. Mr Dunstan, I'm looking at you." She said with a wink. A wave of laughter came from the students and Mr Dunstan, a fairly popular young teacher, looked bewildered.

"No, but, I never! I thought you liked me." He said, meaning that he thought he was one of her favourite teachers and that he didn't know why she was doing this. Too bad it sounded extremely suss.

"Oh, there's a big difference between allowing another to molest ones self and liking a person." Mr Dunstan ran out of the assembly hall. He was, coincidentally, actually a pedophile and had child pornography in his apartment he had to destroy. He was never heard from again.

xX A few weeks later Xx

After Magenta had gone from cautionary tale to absolute legend, she was more out-there. The receptionist had been talking with the tech guys from the company which supplied the PA system for the school. A conversation Magenta (while waiting for a disciplinary conference) had been lucky enough to hear. The guys had told the receptionist to make a recording on the computer of what needed to be said and then hook the whoosy up to the whatsit and voile! A temporary solution until the wiring could be replaced. After school, Magenta had broken in and hooked a 'borrowed' laptop (Ms Whetherbelle's, in fact) up to the school system wirelessly and had told it to play a particular song over the PA system at exactly midday the next day.

The next day, Magenta had been staring at her watch which she had synchronised to the school computers. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. Right on cue, Marilyn Manson's (S)Aint had blared over the speakers, interrupting every class in the whole school. It was too loud to ignore and for some bizarre reason, they were told to go to the school oval for some 'activities'. Neither the teachers or the students could be bothered so they just sat and talked. Well, sort of. Magenta had gone to the roof and got a connection on the 'borrowed' laptop. She then locked the IT guys out of the system and had suspended every account in the school, leaving no way for anyone to stop it. So while Marilyn Manson was going on a continuous loop, she set up a playlist of the most irritating songs she had found. She had a few classical songs which annoyed the students, one called 'Frosty the Pervert' and an entire Cannibal Corpse album ready to go. She wiped it down carefully, even though she had been wearing gloves and a hair net every time she came in contact with it, and left it there. The police arrived due to noise complaints from the neighbors and they had been allowed to go early. It quickly got around that Magenta was responsible and she was celebrated by the students once more. That was when students from other schools began hearing about her. Ms Whetherbelle was forced into not-so-early retirement after a court case involving a particularly unfeeling neighbour of the school.


Those obviously weren't the only incidents, many teachers had been embarrassed and humiliated after being publicly terrorized and the students had loved her for it. Those few teachers she liked were very fortunate people. The staff were torn between amusement and disapproval when it came to her. She was a nice girl, just not the most obedient. The majority of teachers had learned the rules when it came to Magenta – don't piss her off, don't be condescending and, above all, don't be wrong around her. It would only lead to an impossibly logical argument that would wear the opponent down until they gave up. It was only when Mr Gregson had come in the replace Ms Whetherbelle that they had begun betting pools. The students were amused by the way the not-new teachers would interact with her. Like they were trying to befriend her. It was funny because, for all intents and purposes, they were.

Magenta was walking through the really seedy area of London where she lived in an apartment by herself. It was all that bloody Doctor's fault, really. The guy who owned the apartment block had been left it in his father's will. The current landlord was actually quite rich and let her stay there for free. She actually owned half the apartment she lived in, so he couldn't really toss her out or charge her rent. He payed the bills for her, though and sometimes he would come over for dinner. That was mainly because he was her legal guardian, they were friends and neither one of them really wanted to share a flat. When the Doctor had dumped her on Earth, when she was 15 years old, she really had no idea what she was meant to do. Then, while stumbling around Victorian Era London, trying to put her broken sonic screwdriver back together, a grandfather and his granddaughter had come over to her. Eventually, she had been invited to stay with them after it came clear to the grandfather that she had nowhere else to go. When the grandfather had died later that year, she had been sad, but when his youngest son offered her her own apartment (even though she was only 15), she had been elated. She never liked being dependent. The building had been passed down from generation to generation and had been renovated many times since then. She would leave when she was "21", and would come back in 25 years claiming to be her own orphaned daughter. The current owner was 18, and a bit lost when it came management, so she helped him out. Now she had enough money to buy her own place between the repaired screwdriver's use on a few ATM's and saved tips from her job. The landlord had too much of a moral compass to let her do that. Instead, he let her buy half of it but continued to take care of the other finances for her. While musing on the subject, she had failed to notice the footsteps behind her. It was only when the footsteps grew closer that she noticed them. They sounded like a clumsy oaf trying to be stealthy. She whipped around to see a creepy, drugged-up looking guy dressed all in black take out a knife and reach for her. She began running but her 'school heels' made her trip in a rare display of clumsiness.

"Money, valuables, anything. Give it here." When she didn't move, he pressed the blade against her throat. He was scared, jittery and just wanted to get out of there. "NOW!" She picked up her bag, pulled out her wallet, handed it to him, then dug through her bag, looking for something else.

"Hang on, I've got a Rolex in here somewhere." The man looked at her strangely before collapsing on the ground in pain. She had drawn a taser and sent the electricity through a rather... tender area. She claimed her purse, picked up her bag, then began calmly walking away. Just before she got out of range, the man had picked up the knife and threw it at her back – right in the middle. She didn't stop. She was almost at the apartment block before she paused to pull the knife out awkwardly. Magenta walked in the door, careful not to let any blood spill. She walked up the stairs to the third floor and let herself in. She collapsed on the couch with her back facing the ceiling. The back of her shirt had been stained scarlet, but she didn't worry. The pain became immaterial as she tried to remember everything she knew about what was about to happen. Her senses went into overload as she tried as hard as she could to focus on her own image, apparently this particular ability was utilised most easily for females. She just kept imagining what she saw in the mirror every morning. Golden light issued from everywhere, extraordinary amounts of energy being let out of her body. As it died away, Magenta fought to keep consciousness – she had to know if it had worked. She stumbled clumsily around the lounge room to the bathroom. She closed her eyes just before stepping in front of the mirror, not sure what she would do if it hadn't worked. She opened her eyes and let out a sigh of relief. She looked exactly the same... almost. Her eyelashes were longer and thicker, no biggie. She quickly stripped down to her underwear to see if everything else was the same. It looked like a tattoo of an Asian symbol had somehow made it's way onto her hip and she thought she was a bit taller. Her body couldn't take much more though, she only just made it to the bed before she collapsed. What, like 200 years in the same form and now she regenerates? How unfair was that?

Author's Notes: Well? What did you think? I wasn't even alive when the old series were airing so this is what I'm gathering from Wikipedia and me just being bored and deciding to make up a few things. Also, I know a few things probably seem a bit inconsistent, like her mentioning siblings but living alone. Again, everything will become clear as the story unfolds. Sorry, my science teacher kept saying that when we were doing forensics. I couldn't resist making fun of her. Yeah, um, please feel free to tell me how much I suck. Or do me a favour and tell me what you didn't like about it. Please.