What exactly are you sorry for? For watching me be led into a room to sit in a chair and have a piece of metal so hot that it burnt itself permanently into my flesh? For the fact that I can never wear t shirts without knowing everyone's looking at the black marks and wondering what the fuck it is that I did to warrant it? That I'm now a suspected terrorist and have to explain to my Muggle parents why the magical world thought it appropriate to brand me?
Or for leading my best friend and someone I love into a room where you knew what would happen to her?
But you're sorry. It's all okay. Life is sunshine and fucking rainbows.