Marwick's is Brynwell's flagship department store: a five-story sweep of glass and polished stone that dominates the High Street skyline. Inside, self-folding linens straighten themselves on display tables, mannequins shift outfits each hour, and brass trolleys trail shoppers with overeager loyalty. Each floor a different department, clothing, cookware and household items, then beauty goods, stationery, travel items, and seasonal displays higher up. A temperamental lift ferries customers between levels, often announcing "helpful" suggestions about current sales.

Ceridwen Grizekins is a sturdy woman, with meaty arms and soot-tipped fingers. Even sturdier is her oak-like shop hand, the part-giant Cragg who can lift even the heaviest double-walled cauldrons like teacups. Cragg's scruffy appearance, bushy eyebrows and lumbering gait often make him seem like he's in a particularly foul mood, but in truth it is Ceridwen who is the more brusque of the two. Ceridwen knows what her cauldrons are worth and and suffers no nonsense from haggling customers. More than one bargainer has found themselves seized by the scruff or their neck and hurled through the front door like a misshapen bowling ball. Ceridwen's is stocked with cauldrons of every size and make, from pewter to copper to blackened iron. Alongside these the shop also offers many accessories such as dripless-ladles, self-folding tripods, and enchanted temperature probes and scourers.

The first thing anyone notices when they enter Vial & Vine is the smell, or rather, smells. To the untrained nose, it is hard to discern one smell from another, and the experience is almost overbearing. Indeed, some might be inclined to excuse themselves and hurry out the door for a gasp of fresh air. Yet the experienced potioneer will immediately pick out the dusty musk of dried boomslang skin, the sulfuric notes of powdered dragon claw, the earthy rot of mandrake root and the vinegar tang of sopophorous beans. Vial & Vine is not a new establishment, it recently passed down from grandfather to grandson and is now ran by Timotheus Strubbins, a lanky and thin youth barely into his twenties wearing an apron who will enthusiastically show you around if you let him. A little further back into the crammed shop, past a curtain of dried herbs hanging from the ceiling, is a small preparation room where Gregorius Strubbins, the former owner, can sometimes be found smoking a pipe or reading the papers from his rocking chair. When a customer inquires about some particularly rare or exotic ingredient, Timotheus will defer them to Gregorius. While Gregorius is almost certain to have an answer for you, customers should be aware that he will almost always be able to guess what you're planning to brew.

One might except a furious noise when entering any pet shop, but in this instance the noise comes from Hetty Flint, a woolly mammoth of a woman, berating her spry and scatterbrained husband for leaving yet another task half done. Bernie Fleece is a man who seems startled by his own shadow as he flits from cage to cage, muttering to himself while scattering feed, refilling water, and taking the gossipguppies out for their monthly brinebath. Despite his skittish nature, Bernie is easily spotted due to the shock of white, windblown hair on his head and though he would sooner try to hide from customers than talk to them, he is immensely knowledgeable about all manner of beasts. Students can buy a variety of pets here and will find themselves leaving the shop with a new best friend, and a useful leaflet carrying instructions on how to best care for it.