They weren't heading for the Shrieking Shack. Not yet.
“It’s the only way to end it,” Harry said.
Hermione was already running toward the transfigured ramp. “Move! The diadem won’t find itself.”
The battle had moved beyond screams. It had settled into a low, grinding roar punctuated by the crack of spells and the shriek of collapsing stone. Harry, hidden under his Invisibility Cloak, pressed his back against the cold wall of a corridor off the Grand Staircase. Dust motes danced in the eerie, spell-lit gloom. He could hear Ron and Hermione breathing somewhere to his left, hidden beneath a different Cloak—the one his father had once used, now mended.