It was pretty obvious why she was there. The bar, the way her long strawberry blonde hair was pinned up (primly, but in such a way as to immediately give rise to thoughts as to what it would look like when it tumbled down), her electric blue cocktail dress (just about the sophisticated side of the slutty-sophisticated dividing line, but not by much), her femme fatale dark red lipstick (a hint of brown) … she was here to harvest and was perfectly happy to accept the risk of being harvested to do so.
The dress showed a lot of leg and just the merest suggestion of cleavage (it was enough) so she perched louchely at a bar stool to best showcase her figure. It wasn’t exactly her real figure. Her natural body was beautiful enough, she was confident enough to know she looked spectacular naked, but she also knew that at this stage in the evening she had brain capacity to spare, and it was scarcely any effort to maintain a little glamour: magically swelling her perky b/c’s to c/d’s and refining a few little imperfections that only she saw in herself. Nothing too obvious, nothing that would look awry later, but a little bit of magical enhancement right now could help a wizard think with his smaller brain and make a mistake when he should be thinking more strategically about his potential partners.