A/N: It was never mentioned in the novels whether or not the original Hogwarts founders had portraits anywhere in the building. But I figure they'd be in the house head offices at the very least, like Godric in McGonagal's office and so forth. I am also assuming that like the portraits of former headmasters, the paintings of the House Heads also move around and give advice from time to time.

Also this is a bit A/U since I believe Helga Hufflepuff's cup was all ready destroyed.

Chapter Eight

The Seeker who Was a Keeper

Sometime after my wand was weighed, before the beginning of the First Task, Professor Dumbledore sent word that he wanted to speak with me. Naturally it came as a bit of a shock. I had never seen the headmaster accept for in the Great Hall and during the Quidditch games.

When I arrived at his office, Professor Sprout was sitting there. In one of the portraits Helga Hufflepuff looked down on me with a kind yet disciplined look.

"Is everything all right?" I asked, nervously.

"Everything is as well as it can be," Prof. Dumbledore answered, gazing at me through his spectacles. "Please, sit. Would you care for some tea?"

"Yes please."

The professor conjured a tray of tea, honey, and sugar. He also conjured a tray of biscuits. He poured three cups and offered one to Professor Sprout.

"Herbal, the way you like it." He said, pleasantly.

"Thank you Albus," Prof. Sprout replied, taking the cup and sipping it gently.

I politely took my cup and sat in the chair beside Prof. Sprout. I had no reason to worry, but I was nervous all the same.

Professor Dumbledore sipped his tea and helped himself to one of the biscuits. Then he began.

"You are not in any sort of trouble. On the contrary, you are a model testament to this school and all of the values we uphold. The professors and I have conferred for the better part of many hours before coming to this conclusion. We have decided that you are the best candidate for what we have in mind."

I sipped my tea patiently.

"Do you know what a Secret-Keeper is?"

The term sounded familiar, but I wasn't certain. I shook my head.

"When something is too sacred to risk losing, a person may entrust another person with their secret. No one will ever know of it so long as the Secret-Keeper refuses to speak of it. Only someone worthy of implicit trust should ever be trusted with this secret."

The professor turned to Prof. Sprout. She placed her hand on my shoulder and looked into my eyes.

"Ordinarily we would not make such a request of a student," she said. "But times are difficult. We need allies and I believe you are the most trustworthy of all of my students in this matter."

"I'd be happy to help in anyway I can," I said, genuinely. "But what is it you want of me?"

"To keep a secret, without understanding why," Prof. Dumbledore said, matter-of-factly. "One day in the future you will know the reason. But for now it is important that if you accept the responsibility, you do so with fairly little knowledge of why you must keep it. This is asking far more than we have any right to ask and yet, without asking, you have all ready given more than any one can give."

"I'm not that great sir," I replied, somewhat confused by the flattery. "Anyone could have been chosen for the tri-wizard tournament. I'm surprised Basil Simpson of Gryffindor wasn't chosen after-"

"We are all capable of greatness," Helga Hufflepuff's interrupted

We looked to her portrait respectfully. I myself was in awe that someone so important would ever take the time to acknowledge me.

"Honor, devotion, and modesty as well," she said, looking directly at me. "You truly are the kind of student I would have chosen many centuries ago. You possess the qualities and heart of a Hufflepuff."

"Thank you, ma'am," I responded.

"You have our utter confidence," Prof. Dumbledore said. "But the choice must be yours."

I looked from my headmaster, to the head of my house and to the portrait. Then, as we exchanged a friendly smile, Hufflepuff and I, "I made my choice sir."

Prof. Dumbledore exchanged a brief glance with Prof. Sprout before removing something from beneath his desk. It was wrapped in a silk red cloth, with a gold embroidered "H" in the center. He removed it to reveal a beautiful golden cup.

"This was recovered fifteen years ago," he explained, giving it to Prof. Sprout.

"It's beautiful," I said as Prof. Sprout held it in her hands like a precious child. "Is it very old?"

"It belonged to me," Prof. Hufflepuff said. "A thousand years ago."

"This relic is one of many precious items," Prof. Dumbledore went on. "I cannot explain its significance now except to say that if it falls into the wrong hands, death will follow."

"I understand sir," I said.

"Then it is settled. Stand beside Professor Sprout and then turn to me when she is finished."

Prof. Sprout worked a charm with her wand and held the relic up to the portrait. Hufflepuff reached out of the painting and took the cup in hand. This was surprising as I had never seen a painting leave its portrait before. The real cup merged with the painting and I watched as Hufflepuff placed it in a bureau along with the painted version of the cup, which she drank from.

As instructed, I turned around and faced Prof. Dumbledore who then pointed with his wand.

"Cedric Diggory, the relic of Helga Hufflepuff has been placed in the care of her rightful owner for a short time. Do you promise to keep this secret, swearing never to speak of it, and choosing death before you will betray it?"

"I promise."

"Fidelius!"

A flash of red light engulfed me. From that moment on, only I knew of the location of the relic. But I never understood what was so important about such an old cup.

"We know you are ze Secret-Keeper," Vicilia's voice brought me back to the present. "A very reliable source has been working in Hogwarts since ze Dark Lord tried to kill Harry Potter. He could not tell us where ze cup was, since you are its protector."

I coughed up blood. The barbed chains were buried in my stomach, arms and legs. The wizards took turns cleaning up the blood, vomit, and whatever other fluids my body happened to expel during the last two days.

Days had passed, I was certain. Vicilia would leave for a few hours to get some rest and one of the wizards would kill me so that I regenerated by the time she got back.

"I'll never tell you," I strained to speak. "No matter how much you hurt me. So I guess you'll have to kill me."

Vicilia grinned the way a cat does when it approaches a small bird. I'd grown use to that look by now, though it disturbed me at first. If dementors had faces they would smile like that. She waved her wand and caused the chains to disappear, replacing them with the regular straps.

"You are persistent because you know we cannot kill you," she observed. "It's true; Radu wants your head so badly. And he is much more effective when he is cooperative, so we need you alive. But tell me young Diggory, who do you want to keep alive? Kill him."