A/N: I almost didn't do this one either - I'm traveling to NYC tonight and would come back at two in the morning. So I picked up an old drabble I wrote before I joined and edited it a bit.
Prompt #14: 7/22/17
314 words, according to Google docs.
"No. I have to do this. I have to do this!" His voice rose in shrill desperation. "You don't understand." A sob caught in his throat, fighting to escape. "You never did. My - my parents will die if I fail." He looked down, away from the wavering hand that held the wand, away from the old man's twinkling eyes.
Memories flashed through his vision like shards of glass spilling, broken, across the ground. A gentle laugh - one of few in his starved childhood, overheard in Diagonally when passing the youngest Weasley. The glint of white-blond hair that he saw just before another fist came in contact with his face. The blood pooling around his mother's limp body as he peeked, terrified, around the door as his father beat her. The cold, high laugh of the Dark Lord, followed by a flash of green.
"Wh-what are you doing to me?" he choked, fighting to get away from the images.
"Nothing, my dear boy," Dumbledore said, his voice low. "Nothing at all."
Silence filled the night, punctured only by the occasional dry sob and heavy sigh.
"I could help you, you know. We could help you." Dumbledore finally spoke. "You could protect your family, Draco. Your mother."
"My - my mother?" The old headmaster smiled wearily.
"Yes, Draco." He paused, as if pondering. Then he tilted his head. "However, I do believe that we will be having company very soon." He gestured towards the door.
"Sir?" Dumbledore fixed him with a stern stare, and he lowered his eyes - his automatic respect for teachers had not gone away.
"You know what I'm talking about, Draco. So, what will it be?" An agonized pause.
Draco stiffened his resolve.
"Where will we go now?" he asked, sheathing his wand. Dumbledore smiled, held out a hand, and let out a soft sigh.
Draco would not rejoin the dark lord that night.