Pointilism (слэш)

Harry doesn’t see the pattern until it’s too late, of course. Each precise movement planned from the very moment of his birth, moments threading together to make the symphony that now plays—a funeral procession.
 
Every despicable action, every disingenuous word, every nuanced gesture…every venomous insult hissed between clenched teeth accompanied by clenched fists was a fateful nudge to position him just where he needed to be for this very instant to pass, seen in a seer’s crystal orb years ago.
“You’ve lied to me,” the boy breathes, watching Severus with half-lidded eyes.