Snape didn't know where he was. It was a black, decaying room, furnished with only gloom and dust and rays on sun from a few windows. He turned as then, it hit him. The nursery of Harry Potter.
"Sev," He turned at Lily's voice. She was beautiful, absolutely stunning, as always, but his love was dwindled. She smiled.
"Always tends to end eventually," she whispered it. "Romantic love, however true, is rarely anything but finite."
And then she was gone, and Snape was alone.
He walked the room millions of times, not a negative feeling about him, for once, but not a positive one, either. He was simply calm.
Every now and then, a thought would pop into his mind, almost like a memory, only Snape had never known these things.
They were little things, such as Harry's opinions on the other teachers, on his friends, on his classmates.
Such as Harry's oblivious nature, unassuming attitude, from growing up in a home where noticing things only got him into trouble.
Such as the way Harry read the Half-Blood Prince's book and carried it with him in an unending way, until he had to put it away. Snape felt a small pang of loss that Harry had ended their one connection.
Such as the way Felix Felicis had made Harry feel so giddy, sarcastic, and carefree.
Such as the way it felt when, during fifth year, not a soul was around to care for Harry, and Snape felt a pang of bitter regret.
Such as the way Harry felt learning all those things about Snape, and Snape feeling a strong blow of panic from having made Harry feel that, from being responsible for his strife.
Such as the way Harry had felt saying what could have been his last goodbye to his friends, and Snapw felt a flush of self-loathing at the world that made Harry Potter experience the feeling of walking down to die for his family, his friends, people he didn't even know.
And not until several hundred of these little things, invariably about beautiful little Harry, did Snape finally get out of that little room that dulled his feelings.