A Dearth of Daintrills (смешанная)

Harry frowns at his messy notes. “The tablecloths are mint green, right?”
Two distressed lines appear between Draco’s immaculate eyebrows. “Moss, Potter,” he says, as if this should be obvious. “Honestly.”
“Well, I wasn’t the one who decided both shades should start with the same letter, was I?”
Draco sighs heavily through his nose, as if he can’t be bothered to open his mouth. Then, of course, he opens his mouth anyway. “Tell me again why Ginevra isn’t helping me plan this?” Draco says petulantly, for what is perhaps the sixth time that week.
“Ginny,” Harry replies, “has a Quidditch team to train for the upcoming League tournament. She also has a girlfriend. She doesn’t have an extra hour a day to spend distinguishing between shades of green. I, on the other hand, am single and a career changer, which is to say unemployed.” Harry sips his tea. “Also,” he adds, “our sons seem to want us to be friends.”
Draco raises his eyebrows. “And here I thought we were already friends.”