Snape's eyes widened as he glared down from the staff table at young Harry Potter. Having just been sorted into Gryffindor, Potter was sitting talking and laughing with the house ghost, Nearly Headless Nick. Snape felt a wave of hatred for the boy. This, sitting, obliviously unaware, before his very eyes, was the son of Lily… Lily, beautiful, kind, sweet Lily… and James Potter, idiotic, arrogant and narcissistic Potter.
He was the spitting image of Potter, of course. His unruly dark hair and features reminded Snape of humiliation, embarrassment, and, most strongly of all, envy. Envy for his talent on the Quidditch pitch, envy for his popularity, and envy for his relationship with Lily. But when Harry Potter looked up to glance at the staff table, Snape found himself looking into Lily's eyes, and it was all he could do to stop himself gasp audibly. His heart did a somersault, remembering those deep, beautiful green eyes… but they were on the wrong face. And, he bitterly reminded himself, he would never see them again on the right one…
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As Snape felt the last vestiges of his life drain away, he looked up into those eyes one last time, imagining he saw Lily, imagining that he could tell her how sorry he was… he signalled to Harry Potter to take the swirling grey liquid that was memories seeping from his wound, and the boy did as he was told. For once in a very long time, Severus Snape felt contentedness, despite the poison he could feel searing through him, the stinging of his wound as it bled onto the rotten floorboards of the Shrieking Shack. His job was done; there was no more debt to fulfil. Now, he would be able to see Lily again. Now, after all these long years of misery, he could rest.