Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon conversed through the dinner, with Dudley occasionally asked a question that he'd answer after he finished chewing.
It was all so normal!
Harry found a perverse impulse to climb up onto the table and make a physical spectacle of himself. He'd tell them all about the magic, and the terror, and the people who wouldn't stop staring no matter what.
Harry suppressed that impulse, and the rueful smile that came with it. They wouldn't understand. They wanted to behave as if he wasn't really here, so he'd let them. It meant fewer glares anyway.
Harry slept fitfully that night, hearing voices echoing down long hallways of stone. He knew better than to lie in, though. He was up at the crack of dawn making breakfast.
Aunt Petunia, who emerged first of the Dursleys, nodded crisply at him, "That discipline will serve you well." She said no more, and by the time Uncle Vernon had emerged from slumber (out of the bedroom dressed in his suit already), Harry still hadn't said a word to her. Not even good morning.
Dudley tromped down the stairs, shaking the entire staircase. He was hungry too, and ate long after Aunt Petunia had kissed Uncle Vernon goodbye.
As he finished eating, Dudley turned toward the living room. "Go out with your friends," Aunt Petunia said. Dudley looked at her for a long moment, then said, "Speedracer's more fun to watch together anyway!" With more speed than a human tank ought to possess, Dudley flew out the door, leaving the screen door to smash against its moorings.
Aunt Petunia said simply, "Harry."
Harry Potter looked up, quietly.
"Let's sit down and have a chat." Aunt Petunia took a softened statement, and made it into a hard command.
Harry sat down in Dudley's seat, and he couldn't have told you why if you'd asked.
Aunt Petunia turned a cold smile on him, "You now know more about what you'll be facing than I do."
Harry opened his mouth, but Aunt Petunia cut him off, "I don't want to know. I don't need to know, and that's more important."
And so it was, Harry thought, realizing, with some chagrin, that he knew about mindreading, and how was his Muggle Aunt supposed to do anything to stop that??
Harry nodded firmly.
Aunt Petunia gave him a brief, heartfelt smile, and said, "You are old enough to choose, now, what to learn. I won't waste all your time with chores, although there will be some for discipline's sake at least." Aunt Petunia turned her mouth into an odd sort of grimace. "Were I giving you advice, I would suggest you start a business mowing lawns. It will give you some spending money at least. Not that it would be worth much."
Harry nodded, "Thank you, I'll consider it." Harry first needed to know what he wanted to learn, now that he had the opportunity.
Aunt Petunia said, "One other thing..." She proferred the key to his trunk to him, "Study hard, but when your cousin and uncle aren't home. Preferably well before breakfast."
"Thank you, Aunt Petunia." Harry was going to know everything before school this year. He wasn't going unprepared. He wasn't! He wasn't! Internally, he wanted to cheer. All thoughts of muggle learning were swept away with the thought of magic. Second year magic!
[a/n: Harry's nicked half the upper years' textbooks, from Common Room leavings.]